An Old Haunt for a New Hunt
by TraSan
Summary: Sam and Dean take on a run of the mill haunting, but when Sam is injured Dean must cope with feelings of guilt, and help his recovering brother. As they take on the spirit, the brothers discover another hunter has already been here before. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**An Old Haunt for a New Hunt**

**Summary: **Sam and Dean take on a run of the mill haunting, but when Sam is injured Dean must cope with feelings of guilt, and help his recovering brother. As they take on the spirit, the brothers discover another hunter has already been here before.

**Disclaimer: **If they were mine, I'd be advertising the living daylights out of this show, rather than slowly, but surely converting my friends. I'm up to five so far, and I have yet to have anyone claim I owe them a virtual cookie for beating my record. bg

Thank you, Jubilea for the beta work! Good catch, BTW!

_A drowning man will grab even the point of a sword Jewish Proverb_

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The hubbub of the bar drowned out the click-clack of the keys as Sam surfed the Internet. He was pleasantly surprised to find the Wi-Fi from the coffee shop two doors down reached all the way to Al's Friendly Tavern. He and Dean had enjoyed two beers before Dean left Sam to the research while he hustled pool.

A beer bottle slammed down on the table, rattling the two empty bottles on the table, and caught Sam's attention. Sam straightened, and stretched his back and shoulders, stiff from hunkering over the laptop for the past hour. "Are you done?" he asked shooting Dean a questioning look.

"Nah, but I'm up about one hundred and fifty bucks right now," Dean replied taking a swig of beer. "I'd like to make about forty or so more."

"Don't you think that's pushing your luck a little?" Sam asked.

"Maybe, but that last gig was hell on our clothes, and we need to replace some of them," Dean conceded with a grin. "Don't worry, Sam, I'm sure you've got my back if the locals get UN-friendly."

"Funny," Sam sniped. "Try to stay out of trouble…just this once."

"Sam, you wound me," Dean replied impishly clutching his palm to his chest, and staggering backwards dramatically. "Did you find anything yet? You haven't been surfing for porn all this time, have you?"

"What? No!" Sam protested indignantly. "I found a couple of interesting hits, but nothing that fit your exacting criteria."

"I'm not picky, any old job will do," Dean contradicted.

Sam raised his eyebrow and recited, "I want an uncomplicated, good old-fashioned, shoot, salt and burn it. No touchy-feely, morally complicated, demonic possessed, crazy people hunt this time. Think you can handle that, Sammy?"

Dean gave Sam a lop-sided grin and retorted, "Nice to know you listen to me sometimes, Sam." He spun on his heel, and walked back to the pool table.

"I listen to you all the time, Dean," Sam muttered hunching back over the laptop. "Most of the time, I even believe you."

An hour or so later, Sam closed the laptop, and rubbed his strained, smoke-reddened eyes. He had the beginnings of a headache, and he rubbed his temples. At last he had found something that would meet with Dean's approval. As if on cue, Dean appeared on Sam's right side, sporting a cocky grin. "You ready to hit the bricks?" Dean asked.

"Absooooolutely," Sam replied a huge yawn cracking his face. He stood up, and slid the laptop into its carrying bag.

"What's the matter, kiddo, am I keeping you up past your bedtime?" Dean asked heading for the door.

"I guess so," Sam responded good-naturedly falling into step beside Dean. "But, I found us a gig."

"Yeah?" Dean asked stepping outside.

Sam coughed several times, and bounced on his toes to keep warm as the sudden blast of cold air hit him. "Uh, yeah," Sam replied distractedly, looking around. "Where'd you park after you dropped me off?"

"I left the car at the motel," Dean answered turning left, and heading down the dimly lit street. "It's only a couple of blocks away, and I wanted to have a drink, and not have you drive."

"Dude, you have to get over that already," Sam insisted without humor. "Besides, I drive all the time."

"If that's what you call it," Dean sniggered turning into the alleyway. The truth was, there was not any parking to be had close to the tavern, but teasing Sam never got old; he could always get a rise out of him. If Sam ever figured out how much he really enjoyed baiting him it would destroy the whole thing. It was in moments like these that Dean did not have to remember the demon, their father's death, or what the hell either of their destinies had in the coming war. He did not even have to remember they were hunters. He and Sam were simply brothers.

"Guess which one of us is driving all the way to Minnesota while the other one sleeps?" Sam asked sarcastically.

"Dude, that was a given. You really are tired," Dean replied. He glanced over at Sam. He looked exhausted, and even a little pale. Dean wondered if maybe Sam was more than just tired, he looked sick. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, just a little run-down," Sam replied. "I'm going to sleep well tonight."

"You and me both," Dean agreed. He caught sight of a shadowy movement in his peripheral vision. He jutted his chin slightly at Sam, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Sam had seen it too.

The shadowed form stepped out from behind a dumpster, and headed towards the brothers. Sam slid the leather messenger bag off his shoulder, and tucked it behind a small stack of boxes against the alley wall. Dean used the opportunity to slip slightly ahead of him, between Sam and whoever or whatever was approaching.

Dean could sense movement behind him, but he knew Sam had his back. As the figure emerged into the dimly lit alleyway, Dean could see it was one of the men from the bar. "Harry, what's up?" Dean asked. "Feel like playing a little more pool? I can't man, I have to get going, but I'm sure one of your other little friends will still play with you."

"Dean," Sam chastised in a warning tone from behind him.

Dean ignored Sam's obvious warning to not antagonize Harry, and continued, "You're not sore about a lousy fifty bucks are you?"

Harry advanced towards Dean, and without further explanation took a wide arced swing at the seasoned hunter, who easily ducked, and offered a retaliatory jab in return. Harry staggered backwards, wind-milling his arms to regain his balance. Before the older, heavier man could fully recover, Dean was on him. One solid hit later Harry was down.

Dean looked around frantically for Sam, and spotted him kneeling on the ground, partially concealed by shadow. He was checking the pulse of a man he had quickly dispatched only moments before. He glanced over at Dean, and nodded slightly in acknowledgement of the unasked question. He was okay.

"Dean!" Sam shouted in warning.

Dean spun around, and was clipped on his chin by a sharp uppercut. The force of the punch snapped Dean's head backwards, and he was hit again, this time on the back of his head when it came into contact with a brick wall.

Dean shook his head to clear his disorientation, when he noticed two men advancing on Sam. "Sam!" he called out in warning. He tried to head towards Sam, but was cut short by his attacker.

"Going somewhere, kid?" the burly man asked. He was wearing a too small t-shirt that did not completely cover his ample girth, and a dirty feed store hat. Dean recognized him from the bar.

"As a matter of fact, DJ, I am going to help my brother," Dean stated mater-of-factly.

"Is that so?" DJ sneered. "I think you and I have unfinished business, boy."

"You lost, get over it," Dean replied. He saw Sam take down one of the men, and spin around quickly to strike the other man. 'Atta boy,' Dean thought. Deciding he'd had enough of DJ, and his tobacco stained shirt, Dean landed a solid blow to DJ's head. DJ fell like a chopped tree.

Before Dean could offer a warning shout to his brother, Sam was hit from behind by a bat-wielding man. Dean heard the muffled thud as the bat made solid contact with Sam's ribs. A loud whooshing sound escaped from Sam's lungs, as the bat hit him again. Sam kicked his attacker's knee, and he fell to the ground. Before the man could recover, Dean hit him squarely in the jaw, and the man stayed down.

Dean rushed over to Sam who was struggling to his feet. He grabbed Sam by the collar, and hoisted him the rest of the way to his feet. "Sam?" Dean asked concern flashing in his eyes.

"I'm fine," Sam forced out through gritted teeth. "Let's go." He tried to walk forward, but Dean was still firmly gripping his shirt.

"Sam," Dean scolded his eyes scanning Sam's face for any trace of deception. "Bruised or broken?"

"Not sure," Sam replied with a sigh. He stopped trying to break from Dean's grip, and took a mental inventory of his ribs. "Cracked?" He responded finally picking a middle ground.

"Was that a question?" Dean asked. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. We need to get you to a doctor." Dean put his arm around Sam's shoulders, and attempted to steer him out of the alley.

"No," Sam argued. "I'm not hurt that bad." He resisted Dean's gentle push, and bent over to grab the hidden laptop. He barely suppressed a moan of pain, when he stood back up, and shouldered the messenger bag.

"Broken ribs are nothing to mess with," Dean insisted not missing Sam's grimace of pain. He snagged the laptop from Sam. "You know that, let's go."

Sam huffed lightly in protest, but this time he did not pull against Dean's guiding push towards the end of the alley, and the waiting Impala.

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Dean sat in the waiting room of the small emergency clinic one town over as a concession to Sam. He had listened to Sam's shallow labored breathing for nearly twenty-three miles before they reached the clinic. They had waited over an hour before the only doctor on duty finished examining an entire family with the flu, and one man who had been kicked by a cow.

Dean knew he should be looking at the information on the hunt Sam had transferred to Word at the bar, but there was something about sitting in a waiting room that caused his brain to misfire, and the worrying to begin. On a good day, Dean would feel guilty about anything bad that happened to Sam. However tonight, he felt directly responsible for Sam getting hurt. It was his choice to stay in the bar longer to play for more money. Sam had warned him, but he'd blown him off. There was also the fact he had left the car two blocks from the tavern knowing they may need a quick getaway.

Dean rubbed his right hand over his head, and down his face. He hunched over, and rested his elbows on his knees cradling his head in his hands. _What the hell was taking so long? _Dean stood up abruptly, and paced in a tight line garnering annoyed glances from a young mother holding her crying baby. Dean sat back down, and gave her a small apologetic smile. He sighed loudly, leaned back in the folding chair, and closed his eyes immediately losing himself in a memory.

"_Will Sammy be okay?" Dean asked finally. He was sitting in the back seat of the Impala with Sammy who was 'sleeping' off the effects of the striga attack._

_John made eye contact with Dean through the rear view mirror. "Sammy will be fine, son," John replied giving his oldest son a small hint of absolution before reinforcing the lesson, "I know you'll keep an eye on him at Pastor Jim's, and make sure he stays safe."_

"_Yes, sir," Dean replied breaking eye contact with his father. John nodded in approval, and turned his attention back to the road. A part of him hated pushing his son to be responsible for Sammy, for things well past his years of experience. But, the larger part of him knew it was necessary for him to ensure both his sons' safety. They needed to obey him immediately, to watch out for each other, and learn to take care of themselves. It could save their lives one day._

_Dean watched the rise and fall of Sammy's chest, reassuring himself that Sammy was still alive. It had been so close this time, and his dad was right to call him on it. It was his fault. Dean pulled the blanket tighter around Sammy and vowed silently to himself that he would never again allow anything bad to happen to his little brother as long as he was around to stop it._

"Mr. Richards? Mr. Richards?" the nurse said tapping Dean lightly on the shoulder.

Dean's eyes snapped open and asked, "Sorry, what?"

The nurse smiled politely and replied, "Sam's getting dressed, but you're welcome to go back now." She gestured to one of the curtained areas. "He's in exam room two."

"Thanks," Dean replied. He stood up so quickly the folding chair collapsed onto itself, and fell to the ground with a clunking bang. "Sorry," he said to the young mother picking up the chair. The baby started crying again in earnest. "Sorry," he said again, and hustled off to find Sam.

Sam finished buttoning up his shirt, and gave Dean a sheepish look when he walked into the exam room. 'What are you hiding little brother?' Dean wondered. "Well?" he asked.

The doctor chose that exact moment to re-enter the exam room. He was a nearly bald, old man who looked as if he had been practicing medicine since leeches were standard practice. He looked up from the chart, and began, "Do you want your…"

"Brother," Sam supplied.

"Brother," the doctor continued. "To step out while we discuss your treatment?"

'Treatment?' Dean thought.

"No, it's fine," Sam said. He sat down and studiously avoided Dean's questioning gaze.

"Fine, fine," the doctor said nodding. "As you know, two of your ribs are broken, and one is cracked on the right side. The good news is, your bilateral lung sounds are as good as can be expected, so there is nothing to worry about there." At this point, the doctor looked Sam closely in the eye and continued, "As long as you take it easy, son, and no strenuous activity for at least two weeks."

"I really don't," Sam started.

"You'll need to rest," the doctor insisted. "Especially if the coughing worsens, or the pressure in your chest increases."

That got Dean's attention. "What do you mean, if the coughing worsens?" Dean asked.

The doctor turned his attention from Sam to Dean. "Sam has what in layman's terms is classified as walking pneumonia. I'm prescribing a round of erythromycin to combat the infection. Unfortunately, the pneumonia is an added complication to his injury, and may cause a secondary injury if the coughing is extreme. There is no evidence of internal bleeding or injury, which is very lucky considering how he was injured. Also, the pneumonia may mask the warning signs of such an injury. Alternate between cold packs for the first 48 hours to reduce swelling, and heat after the first two days to help speed the healing process. If he sleeps with his head slightly elevated it may help with the increased coughing at night."

"Thank you Doctor Evans," Dean replied looking at the doctor's nametag.

"One more thing," Dr. Evans added turning his attention back to Sam. "Normally, I'd prescribe Percocet or Lorcet for your pain, but they can both suppress breathing and lung function which may be counterproductive all things considered. I'm going to prescribe a low dosage, but you will have to be extremely diligent about your breathing and coughing exercises."

"Ah, actually, can you suggest something else?" Sam asked. "Percocet really knocks me out."

"That may be a good thing. You and your brother don't strike me as the take it easy type," Dr. Evans said with a smile. "But, in deference to you, I'll send you home with prescription strength ibuprofen. However, if it doesn't control the pain, and you aren't able to rest, come back for the Percocet."

"He will," Dean jumped in when Sam opened his mouth to protest. He snagged the two prescription scripts from Dr. Evans hand, and turned to Sam. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," Sam replied tiredly. He stood up carefully, and walked towards the curtained partition.

"Boys?" Dr. Evans called causing both of the Winchesters to turn back towards him with a questioning look. "There's a 24 hour pharmacy at the Wal-Mart in Fargo. I suggest you get those prescriptions filled tonight. It's only about thirty minutes from here."

"Thanks," Dean replied ushering Sam out of the exam room.

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Dean watched from the trunk as Sam carefully lowered himself into the passenger seat of the Impala. He rummaged through his duffle until he found the pain killers Jo had given him after she'd dug into his shoulder retrieving a bullet his, at the time, demon-possessed brother had put there.

Dean sat down beside Sam, and held out his hand with two of the painkillers in his palm. "Here you go, Sam," he said not making eye contact with his brother. He felt Sam grab the pills, but did not notice any movement on Sam's part to actually swallow them. He turned in his seat to face Sam and was met with a questioning gaze. He sighed loudly, and said honestly, "They'll probably knock you out for awhile, but we're only driving to the pharmacy." At Sam's stubborn, resolute gaze, he added glibly, "I promise to wake you before we start opening the Christmas presents."

That did get a response from Sam who snorted softly, and dry swallowed the pills. "Happy now?" he asked with a small edge of annoyance lacing his voice.

"I got my way, didn't I?" Dean responded with a smile. Dean turned the key, and the Impala roared to life. As Dean turned out of the parking lot and onto the highway, he did not have to look at Sam to know his comment had been met with an eye roll. He turned the radio on at half volume hoping the music, the road noise, and the steady rumble of the engine would lull his little brother to sleep like it did when they were kids.

The third time he glanced at Sam trying to gauge if he was resting comfortably or not, he found Sam staring at him, his hazel green eyes darkening to almost brown in the dim interior light of the Impala. He was busted, and he knew it. Turning his attention quickly back to the road, he hoped Sam would let it pass. He should have known better. "It's not your fault, you know," Sam said sleepily.

"Sam, don't - just…don't," Dean replied sharply, willing Sam to stop, to let it drop, to allow him to wallow in guilt for awhile. He did not need forgiveness for this particular sin. What he needed was for Sam to stay safe and happy for more than two seconds at a time. He really was not asking that much from the universe, so why did it always seem to plot against him?

"Dean," Sam countered with a large, halting yawn. Dean could feel the muscles in his jaw twitch involuntarily as he gritted his teeth. When Sam did not continue, Dean chanced another glance at his brother. _Well, I'll be damned. _Maybe the universe was not out to get him after all. Sam was asleep.

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An hour and a half later, prescriptions filled, Dean struggled to get a nearly comatose Sam from the Impala to the hotel room. The small, thin, middle-aged motel clerk followed closely behind them with a pillow, sheets, and a blanket. He scooted around Dean to open the door, and Dean quickly took in the motel room.

There was a long, narrow kitchen directly through the door with a table, three chairs, a microwave, sink, refrigerator, and rows of cupboards. The bathroom was through the main walkway on his left, and the main room housed a large queen bed; one, large queen bed. "Ah, I thought I asked for a room with two beds?" Dean asked pulling back the covers, and helping Sam to the bed.

"Yeah, the other bed is a Murphy bed," the clerk reassured him.

"A who now?" Dean asked. He stepped in front of the fan which had long black hair stuck in the spokes that fluttered in the weak breeze. He opened the window in an attempt to circulate some fresh air into the room. The cold, early spring night air quickly chilled the room, and Dean closed the window.

"A Murphy bed," the clerk replied opening the closet door, and pulling a bed out of the closet.

"Ah hell no," Dean muttered under his breath. He watched as the clerk slowly started to make the bed. "Hey, uh, I can finish that, sir," Dean offered.

"Joe, Joe Sherman," the clerk corrected. "It's no trouble. It'll only take me a minute."

Dean rolled his eyes, and huffed impatiently. He was not about to leave Sam alone with Joe, Joe Sherman. The bags would have to wait until Joe finished. After what seemed like an eternity, Joe finished making the Murphy bed, and left the room.

Dean went out to the Impala to retrieve their bags and the medication. In a habit born from years of hunting, Dean made sure the room was secure, and laid salt lines around the windows and in front of the door. Dean removed Sam's shoes and jacket, and covered him with the blanket. Using three very lumpy pillows, Dean propped Sam up in bed. "Not your fault," Sam whispered.

"Let it go, Sammy," Dean replied. "Get some sleep."

"K," Sam responded softly falling back to sleep.

Dean paced the small room. Despite the lack of sleep, he was restless, and his mind was whirling. With a sigh, Dean flopped onto the Murphy bed, and was immediately folded up into the mattress like a taco. "Great, just great," Dean muttered and squirmed to lie diagonally on the bed to keep the mattress flat. "It's been one hell of a night."

Sam's light, congested snoring and the rhythmic whirring of the fan were the only response.

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AN: My friend and I stayed in this room in Long Beach, CA when we traveled down to L.A. for the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer.

It was my friend (a recent convert to Supernatural) who suggested the boys HAD to spend a night in that room. So, they did. (c:


	2. Chapter 2

**An Old Haunt for a New Hunt**

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

Thank you, Jubilea for the beta work!

_"The worst guilt is to accept an unearned guilt."_ _ Ayn, Rand_

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_Dean paced the small room. Despite his lack of sleep, he was restless, and his mind was whirling. With a sigh, Dean flopped onto the Murphy bed, and was immediately folded up into the mattress like a taco. "Great, just great," Dean muttered and squirmed to lie diagonally on the bed to keep the mattress flat. "It's been one hell of a night."_

_Sam's light, congested snoring and the rhythmic whirring of the fan were the only response._

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Sam awoke as sunlight filtered through the flimsy, sheer curtain covering the dirty hotel windows. Without sitting up, he looked around for Dean. There was no sign of his brother, and in fact, there wasn't even another bed in the room. He was lying in the middle of the bed, so he knew Dean could not have shared a bed with him. At least, he was pretty sure. Whatever pills Dean had given him last night left him feeling fuzzy, with a cottony, dry sensation in his throat.

Sam ground his elbows into the mattress, and tried to push himself off the bed. 'Okay, that hurts!' he thought. 'I need a new plan.' Rolling to his good side, Sam allowed his long legs to fall off the bed. With his feet as a weight, he hardly had to push off the bed at all to end up in a sitting position. Wrapping his left arm around his ribs in protection, Sam staggered to the bathroom.

While Sam was waiting for the shower water to heat up, he noticed four pills sitting on the counter, with a note from Dean that read simply, "Sam, take these. I mean it." Sam shook his head amused by the note, but he obediently swallowed the pills.

It took Sam several minutes of slow, laborious work to get undressed. He stepped into the shower, and allowed the hot water to pound against his sore back muscles. Wincing when the spray hit his ribs, Sam looked down at his chest for the first time. Angry red, dark purple and black bruises littered his chest and side. He knew if Dean saw the bruises, he was in for a fresh round of hovering from his brother. Dean was nothing, if not consistent in his reactions to Sam.

After several minutes under the warm spray, hair washed, clean-shaven, Sam stepped out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Sighing, he realized he had neglected to bring in fresh clothes. He opened the bathroom door, and was surprised to run smack into Dean who was obviously just returning from wherever he had been.

"You're up," Dean stated in obvious surprise. "I figured I'd be back before…" Dean's voice trailed off as he caught sight of the bruises.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Sam said quickly.

"Really, Sam?" Dean replied sarcastically. "Because it looks like you got the crap beat out of you with a bat."

"Huh," Sam responded with a note of returned sarcasm. He scanned the room for his duffel. "I guess it is as bad as it looks."

"Funny, you're a funny guy," Dean said. "What're you looking for?"

"My duffel bag," Sam replied distractedly. Spying the duffel bag, Sam reached for the handle to pull it onto the bed. Dean beat him to it, and swung the duffel onto the bed for Sam in one easy motion. "Thanks," Sam murmured. He was right; the hovering was in full swing. "Where are we anyway?"

"We crossed the river into Morehead," Dean answered sitting down in the one chair in the room. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. You were pretty out of it."

"Ugh, those pills really knocked me for a loop," Sam agreed. "How far are we from Elbow Lake?"

"About forty-five minutes," Dean replied. "Feel up to a little breakfast?"

"Sure," Sam said gathering his clothes and heading back to the bathroom to get dressed. "I'll be out in just a couple of minutes."

As it turned out, it was more like fifteen minutes, and Sam was glad he'd taken the pain pills Dean had left for him that morning. He was stiff and sore, and moving his arms over his head to put on his t-shirt had taken three tries. He emerged from the bathroom oddly relieved to see Dean had already taken their bags to the car.

"Ready to go?" Dean asked without looking in Sam's direction. He was sitting on the edge of the bed watching of all things, the weather channel.

"Yeah," Sam replied. He wrinkled his brow, and blinked his eyes a couple of times in confusion. He could not remember Dean watching the weather channel before. His curiosity finally getting the better of him, he asked, "What's up with the weather channel?"

"It's the only channel we get," Dean confessed. He gave Sam an appraising look, trying to gauge how fit he was for another hour in the car until they reached their destination. Deciding Sam was up to snuff, he stood up, and handed Sam his jacket. "Let's go," he said simply and proceeded out the door.

Sam let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding. He knew Dean was judging him, and he had measured up to par, at least for breakfast. He followed Dean out to the car, carefully avoiding the largest puddles of slush on the sidewalk.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, and soon the brothers found themselves back on the open road. They drove along in silence for several miles. Sam was tapping his thumb on the door. Dean knew that meant his brother was mulling over information in his head. Unlike himself, Sam could be still. He could work for hours doing research, hunched over dusty books, or the laptop until he had answers. But, when he was frustrated, or the answers were just out of reach, the nervous energy would manifest itself with finger tapping, or leg jitters. He wondered if Sam was even aware of the behavior.

"What's up, Sam?" Dean asked turning down the radio.

"Huh, oh nothing, it's stupid because it doesn't really matter," Sam replied focusing his gaze on the passing winter dead wheat fields.

"It is important enough that it is distracting you from keeping your head in the game," Dean countered.

Sam's head snapped up at that remark, and he threw Dean a guilty look. Sometimes his brother's ability to read him went beyond the uncanny. "It really isn't a big deal, Dean. Because, I wouldn't mind, well, I mean it would be okay if…shit," Sam fumbled turning his head back towards the window.

"Well, that clears that right up," Dean responded sardonically.

"Where'dyousleeplastnight?" Sam spit out.

The corner of Dean's lip moved into the lopsided grin he often sported when baiting his brother. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that," Dean lied.

"Where did you sleep last night?" Sam asked carefully enunciating every word.

"You woke up in the same room we stayed in," Dean teased. "It only had one bed, how hard can it be to figure out?"

"I don't remember anything after I fell asleep in the car," Sam admitted.

"Ah well, that's probably a good thing, Sammy. You were pretty out of it," Dean could barely keep the grin out of his voice. "You kept asking for WooBee, and snuggling up next to me."

At Sam's horrified look, Dean laughed and let his brother off the hook. "Or, the other bed folded out from the closet, take your pick."

Sam walked through the door his brother had graciously left open for him and quipped, "So what you're telling me is this morning you finally decided to come out of the closet."

"You're gonna pay for that one," Dean muttered. Sam laughed until it caused him to have a minor coughing fit. He wrapped his left arm protectively around his ribs, and fought to breathe against the pain.

"I'm okay," he managed to gasp.

"Serves you right, you know," Dean replied with mock venom. "Instant karma for being an ass."

Sam chuckled lightly and groaned, "Don't make me laugh."

"There once was a man from Venus," Dean started.

"Dude, that isn't even funny," Sam replied.

"Sure it is," Dean replied.

"No, no it isn't," Sam disagreed. "So, we really haven't talked about the case at all," he added hoping to distract Dean from vulgar limericks.

"We were kind of side-tracked by the baddies in the alley," Dean said. "Fill me in."

"I really haven't had a chance to research it much yet," Sam answered. "I only found it shortly before we left the bar." At Dean's nod, and hand-rolling to continue Sam added, "Five years ago, Diane Schneeberger fell through the ice, and drowned in Pomme de Terre Lake. Every year since then three people died in a similar fashion, falling through thin spring ice and drowning."

"Any connection?" Dean asked not taking his eyes from the road.

"Not that I was able to glean from the obits," Sam said. "No relation, different ages, different occupations, one was even from out of state."

"So, you're thinking Diane's spirit is causing the deaths?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "A straight-forward salt and burn."

"Sounds perfect," Dean replied turning up the radio, and tapping out the beat on the steering wheel.

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Dean pulled the Impala to a stop outside the four room motel in Elbow Lake. He walked into the motel office, and asked, "Are any of your rooms available?"

The woman behind the desk was in her late forties with bright, red-from-the-bottle, hair. "They're all available, and they all have two queen beds, basic cable, and complimentary coffee," she answered with a diluted-Scandinavian Minnesota accent.

When she made no move to ask him if he wanted a room Dean asked, "Can I check in? I'd like the room on the end."

"Yeah, you betcha," she replied. "Sorry, about that. I'm watching a rerun of 'Simon & Simon,' and I love this episode. Here you go, here's the key. Come back to pay if you like the room, and decide to stay."

"Okay, sure," Dean replied slowly, taken aback by the low-key behavior of the clerk. Somehow he had forgotten how trusting and laid-back small towns in the rural Midwest were. He was not sure how it was even possible for him to forget considering all the time they had spent at Pastor Jim's. "Oh, one more thing, do you have Internet access here?"

The woman looked up from her small television and laughed at Dean. "Son, this is a small town. We don't have anything like that here. You could try Fergus or Alexandria. In fact, I think Alexandria does have a bookstore with Internet access."

Dean sighed. "What about a library?" he asked inwardly cringing.

"That we do have," the lady replied with a smile. "It's on Main Street, and it's open Monday through Friday from eight to five."

"Thanks," Dean replied. The bell on the door jangled when Dean beat a hasty exit.

Dean carried their bags into the hotel, only allowing Sam to carry the laptop bag. He knew he was coming dangerously close to pissing Sam off, but frankly, he did not care. Taking care of Sam was not just what he did, it was an integral piece of who he was. He could not change that part of him even if he wanted to, and he didn't. "Why don't you rest here for awhile, and I'll go scout out the town? See if there is a library, a diner, you know, the essentials," Dean suggested.

"Dean, I'm not a child. I don't need a nap, and I don't need to be coddled. I'll go with you," Sam snapped.

"And yet, you managed to sound like a cranky three-year-old, Sammy," Dean smirked. "I'm following doctor's orders. He told you to take it easy. So, take your medicine, and rest for awhile. I don't care if you sleep or not, just rest." He tossed Sam's white paper bag from the pharmacy to him, and went to fill one of the disposable motel cups with water.

Sam sighed, and sat down on the bed. He was not sure this was a battle worth fighting especially as he seemed doomed to lose from the get go. He sighed again. If Dean had his mind set on him resting, there would be no changing his mind without an argument. The Winchester stubborn streak was a mile wide, and just as deep. When a small disposable cup was thrust in his face, Sam looked up at Dean.

"Just take the pills, and get some rest, Sam," Dean said in a softer, less bossy big brother tone, the one that would get him further with Sam than any other. To cement the deal, Dean pulled out his trump card. "Please?"

Sam's face softened, and he nodded in concession. "Just don't go out to the lake by yourself," Sam requested measuring out the four pills, and swallowing them at all at once. He knew Dean liked to visit the site of the activity as soon as possible, but he did not want Dean there without him to watch his back.

"Yeah, okay," Dean capitulated easily, too easily.

"Promise?" Sam asked mustering up his best version of the puppy dog eyes he knew would get him the extra cookie from Dean every time.

Dean sighed loudly and said, "Alright, I promise. I'll see you in a couple of hours." He waited until Sam slowly swung his legs on the bed, and lay back against the pillows.

"I'll be here," Sam replied closing his eyes. He was more tired than he thought. His chest felt a little tight, and he could definitely feel pressure building up in his sinuses. He heard the door close when Dean left the room. Within minutes, he succumbed to the call of slumber.

Dean stopped at the office to pay for a week's rental on the room, and headed out to find the library. He figured he may as well try his hand at finding the newspaper articles from the drowning incidents.

………………………………………………………..

Dean's stomach rumbled and he tossed aside the paper he had been reading with a disgusted flick of his wrist. Over an hour of research had turned up nothing more than what Sam had found at the bar. There did not seem to be any pattern to the deaths. They were young and old, male and female, and from all different occupations. They were not related in any way that Dean could see. The only thing he had discovered, was most of the deaths occurred after the ice started to melt, but before the spring equinox. It was roughly the same time of year Diane had drowned so that, in itself, was not unusual.

Dean folded the papers neatly, and stacked them in order. He grabbed the entire stack, and walked them back up to the librarian.

"I hope you found what you were looking for," the elderly librarian said with a kind smile.

"Thank you, ma'am," Dean replied. "I don't suppose you know where I could pick up some take-out? My brother is sick at the motel, and I don't want to drag him out if I can avoid it."

"Stop over at the Home20 across the street. They serve tasty, home-cooked meals. I'm sure you can find something over there that will be nutritious," the librarian supplied. "And, Edna makes a scrumptious strawberry-rhubarb pie. It isn't exactly in season right now, but she usually has enough canned to make a pie every day. Try to get a piece of it, it is worth it."

"Thanks," Dean said with a slight tilt of his head. "I appreciate it."

Edna had insisted that Dean take not only several more dishes of food than he and Sam could possibly eat, but also threw in two pieces of the legendary strawberry-rhubarb pie. Of course, along with the small town hospitality came small town timing, and Dean figured he had spent over an hour waiting inside the restaurant for his to-go order.

"Uh, Ms. Westrom," Dean started when Edna walked by.

"Edna," she interrupted.

"Edna," Dean corrected. "I hate to bother you, but do you know how much longer it will be? I hate to leave Sam for too long." It was only half a lie, Dean was itching to go check out the lake, but he did want to check on Sam. After all this time, he would be lucky if Sam had not decided to walk around town looking for him.

"I'll be boxing it up within five minutes," she reassured him.

Dean sighed. Edna had told him five minutes every time he had asked so far. "Say, I overheard two people talking earlier about the drownings that have occurred around here. What is that all about?"

"It is about tragedy," Edna replied with a frown. "I suggest you don't go around asking folks about it. It is a small town, everybody knows everybody. A death doesn't happen without it affecting almost everyone."

"Sorry, I didn't mean," Dean started.

"No, I know you didn't," Edna interrupted again. "Wait here and I'll see if your supper is ready to be boxed up yet."

Luck was with Dean this time, and when Edna returned several minutes later, she was carrying two plastic bags filled with to-go boxes of food. "Here you go, Dean," she said with a smile. "You take care of that brother of yours."

"I always do," Dean replied flashing a return smile. "Thanks."

"Yep," Edna replied simply and turned to head back into the kitchen.

Dean managed to get all of the food back to the motel without spilling anything in his car. Feeling pleased with himself for the small battle won, he opened the door to the motel room surprised to find Sam was asleep. 'That's two for me,' Dean thought. 'Things are looking up.'

Dean set out the food, and soon the room was permeated with the smell of chicken soup, biscuits and hot coffee. For a few minutes now, Sam had been showing signs of waking, and by the time Dean had finished he turned around to find Sam sitting up in bed blinking owlishly at him.

"S'time izzit?" Sam asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I think I fell asleep."

Dean raised an eyebrow and responded, "Come on over and eat, Sam," he replied. "We have just enough for a quick bite, and a trip to the lake before it gets dark."

"Yeah, okay," Sam answered. He stood up and slowly made his way over to the table. Not only were his ribs sore, but also his muscles felt achy. Gingerly lowering himself into the chair, he growled, "What's so funny?"

"You're walking like an eighty-year-old man," Dean chuckled lightly. His voice turned serious and he asked, "I suppose you're going to tell me you're fine, and you are still coming with me to the lake?"

"Got it in one," Sam replied snagging a biscuit. "Find out anything about the drowning accidents?"

"Not that we didn't already know," Dean admitted. "Other than they all seem to happen within a five week period ending with the spring equinox."

Sam took a bite of chicken soup, and replied. "Isn't that about the time Diane died?"

"Sure is," Dean replied. "I think things are shaping up for our angry spirit angle."

"It's about time we had an easy one," Sam agreed.

"Famous last words, Sam," Dean cautioned with a note of humor in his voice.

"Hey, I like to live dangerously and tempt fate," Sam replied. There was a small pause before Sam pointed his soupspoon at Dean and said with a grin, "Wait, no, that's you."

"I don't know how you became such a smart ass," Dean grumbled taking a bite of soup.

"It's a mystery," Sam replied sarcastically.

Sam and Dean arrived at Pomme de Terre Lake as the sun was dipping close to the horizon. They would have to make this trip quick, as it would be dark in about an hour. "Whatever happens, stay away from the water, Grace," Dean cautioned. "I don't want to have to fish your butt out of lake."

"Ha, ha," Sam replied. "Hey, there's someone out on the dock."

Dean raised his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. There was a woman standing out on the dock, her loose shirt and her long blonde hair blowing in the cold breeze. She was not wearing a coat, and was hugging herself to stay warm. "Stay here," he barked at Sam and ran for the dock. He was not sure if anything was wrong, but he was not sure it was completely safe either. Diane's spirit could appear at any time, and the woman was standing way too close to the end of the dock.

"Hey!" Dean shouted as he approached the woman from behind. "You shouldn't be out here without a coat." He noticed the hem of her skirt was wet and dripping onto the dock. "You're wet. We should get you out of here." The woman turned towards Dean and disappeared.

Sam shouted out to his brother as the woman reappeared and pushed Dean from behind. As quickly as she appeared, the woman disappeared again. Dean teetered for a moment, and almost regained his balance, when he was suddenly jerked forward into the icy depths of the lake.

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AN: Ridley C James is ONE of the excellent writers in this fandom. The reference to Sam's WooBee was from one of her Weechester fics.

Here's an official shout out to all the great authors in the forum. Take a bow.


	3. Chapter 3

**An Old Haunt for a New Hunt**

**Disclaimer: **Nope, not mine. Had you fooled, didn't I?

**Disclaimerx2: **Obviously, I'm not in the medical field – so any errors are my own. I did my research, but if you are in the medical field, well – I'm sorry for any glaring mistakes. Corrections are welcome so I can improve!

As a return favor, if any of you ever decide to write a story about a poltergeist bent on destroying the EBITDA of a publicly traded company, I'm your gal. (c:

**Special Thanks: **A big shout out to Jubilea who helped me hash through a certain section (you know which one) of this chapter three times, and after all of that suffered through a complete chapter revision. Your suggestions are invaluable.

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_I used to think it was awful that life was so unfair. Then I thought, wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair, and all the terrible things that happen to us come because we actually deserve them? So, now I take great comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the universe. _

_ as said by the character, Marcus, on Babylon 5._

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_Sam shouted out to his brother as the woman reappeared and pushed Dean from behind. As quickly as she appeared, the woman disappeared again. Dean teetered for a moment, and almost regained his balance, when he was suddenly jerked forward into the icy depths of the lake._

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Sam reached the end of the dock and searched frantically for any sign of Dean submerged beneath the surface. "Dean!" he called out reflexively. He knew he could not obey his every instinct to jump into the water after Dean. The cold water or the ice would get them both. He could hear someone shouting behind him, but he ignored them. His only concern right now was finding his brother.

Sam suppressed a moment of panic. He would find Dean, and he would be fine. He had to believe that, or he would not be able to function. He could feel unwanted despair settling into his bones, when he caught a glimpse of something moving in the murky water.

Without thinking, without contemplating a strategy, or a plan, Sam laid on the dock on his belly. He plunged his arms into the frigid water hoping he could grab Dean. The fact that whatever it was that had pulled Dean into the water in the first place was probably still nearby, never entered his mind. 'Almost there, damn it!'

Sam scooted further up to the edge of the dock on his stomach. His entire upper body was off the dock now, balanced precariously with only the weight of his hips and legs keeping him anchored on the dock. This time when he reached down, dunking his entire upper torso under the water, he was rewarded for his efforts when numb fingers registered the texture of fabric.

He gripped Dean's jacket firmly with his right hand, but he could not gain purchase on the jacket with his left. Rocking his hips left and right, he was able to slowly inch his way backwards onto the dock.

_Dean was floating, no longer cold, no longer troubled by the anything. He could not remember the last time he had not been worried, okay, he might call it concerned, for his dad, or Sam, or that he would ultimately fail to keep anyone in his family safe. It always seemed ironic to him that Sam thought he was the one who was cursed, that he was the reason everyone died. _

_Sam was just a baby when mom was killed. He had heard Sammy crying, but he was tired, and when he had heard their mom talking to Sammy he thought Sammy would be fine. He should have gone in there too, and then things may have turned out differently. He had been the one backing up their dad from the minute Sam left for Stanford. As far as he was concerned dad had died on his watch. Hell, even Jessica had been fine with Sam until Dean showed up, and dragged him back into the family business kicking and screaming. Well, kicking, hitting, and yelling anyway. _

_And then, there was Sam, the most important member of his little family. The one person who never seemed to judge him inferior, or rebuff his one and only true gift to those he considered family. With one rare exception, Dean only offered his gift of love to the precious few he called family. He knew his father loved him, but Sam returned the gift in kind. Easily demonstrating how much he loved his big brother when he was little, returning every hug, looking at him with something akin to worship in his eyes. Dean never regretted for a moment any sacrifice he had made for his family. _

_Dean's worst gut-wrenching fear was that he would not be able to save Sam from whatever evil destiny the demon had planned. That he would fail in this too, and lose his little brother forever. He remembered now, the spirit in the lake had pulled him into the water, and he was drowning. He would not be able to save Sam, he was dying. 'I'm sorry, Sammy,' he thought before the darkness came, and swallowed him whole. _

Sam's chest was half-way back on the dock, and he flexed his biceps pulling Dean's upper body out of the icy water, and into the frosty air. The weight of his brother added to his own caused the deck to cut into his chest, and squeeze the air from his lungs. Sam panted shallowly from the exertion, but did not slow his attempts to scoot backwards along the dock, rocking his body until his bent elbows made contact. Digging his elbows and knees into the dock, Sam pulled Dean upwards, and arched his body until Dean was on the dock.

Sam wasted no time pulling Dean along the dock to the slushy bank where he could assess Dean's condition. For the first time, Sam realized Dean's eyes were open, and glassy. His skin was blue in several places, and white in others. With cold, trembling fingers, Sam felt for a pulse while he bent his head down listening for respirations. Not finding any signs of life, Sam gently tilted Dean's head back, and gave two quick breaths.

The voice from before, materialized as a young teenage girl in front of him. She was saying something to him, but his panicked brain could not slow down long enough to comprehend. When she grabbed his face, and forced him to look at her, his mind connected to his body, grounding him.

"I called for an ambulance," she said slowly. "Let me help, I know CPR."

"No!" Sam shouted in misplaced anxiety, shoving her away from Dean. "I have to do this."

"I understand," she replied softly approaching slowly. "But, you don't have to do it alone. Let me take over breathing, you sound as if you are struggling for air yourself."

This time, Sam allowed her to take a spot next to Dean, and he moved further down Dean's chest. He could not seem to get a grip on his anxiety. He could not slow his shallow, labored breathing, or stop the fine tremors running rampant through his body.

"He has a pulse, it's just really slow," the girl said looking back up at Sam.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked not really believing her words.

"I'm sure, but I can't tell if he's breathing, so I'm going to administer rescue breaths until the paramedics get here."

It seemed like hours passed with him kneeling in the slush, the cold and wet soaking through his jeans, as she breathed for Dean, and Sam knelt next to him, helpless to do anything. Without warning, Dean violently coughed up water, and Sam turned him quickly on his side to let the water drain. "Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked the concern evident in his voice.

"Tell me you got that bitch," Dean demanded in a harsh whisper.

"Sorry," Sam replied with a small relieved laugh. He vaguely heard the ambulance sirens through the haze, but he still jumped when the paramedic touched his shoulder.

"We'll take over now," the paramedic said. He quickly assessed Dean's condition and placed an oxygen mask over Dean's nose and mouth. Dean made a feeble attempt to remove the mask.

"I'm fine," Dean protested, his breath fogging up the oxygen mask.

"Sir," the paramedic started.

"Dean," Sam said in a tone that both corrected the paramedic, and berated his brother.

"Dean," the paramedic continued. "You need to leave that on." Sam watched as they took Dean's vitals, and started an I.V. Dean's charm necklace kept getting snagged by the paramedics as they worked on Dean, and one of the men made a move to remove it.

"I'll take it off," Sam protested irrationally. With hands that would barely follow his commands, he slid the necklace off Dean, and pocketed it in his coat. Black dots appeared in Sam's vision, and he knew the quick, shallow breathing and the tightness in his chest meant he was about to pass out. 'Damn it, pull yourself together,' he mentally chastised himself. 'You have to be here for Dean.'

He was ashamed of his behavior, but he could not seem to control it no matter how hard he tried. He wavered on his feet, and felt hands try to steady him, to force him to sit down. He fought back, sluggishly, but his body was no longer cooperating. 'I'm sorry, Dean,' he thought and lost his battle to remain conscious.

………………………………………………………………….

An annoying electronic beeping woke Sam from his sleep. He slowly became aware of his surroundings, and he realized he was in a hospital. The annoying beeping was a heart monitor. He tried to sit up, but was stopped short by restraints on his wrists. 'What the hell?' Sam thought. For a brief moment, he thought maybe the police had figured out who they were, and he was in custody. But, the rational side of his brain kicked into gear, and he recognized the restraints were of the garden hospital variety, and not handcuffs.

Sam was breathing easier again, but somehow it did not feel right. His body was extremely tired, and his right side felt almost numb. He looked around, hoping to catch sight of someone walking by his door. He was moments from calling out, when a nurse walked into his room.

"Mr. Richards, you're awake," the nurse remarked in surprise. "I'll get the doctor." She quickly left the room and disappeared.

Sam laid his head back on the pillow, and sighed loudly in frustration. He needed to find Dean, he needed some answers, and he could not do anything as long as he was literally tied down. The nurse re-emerged with a doctor in tow. "Mr. Richards, I need to run you through a couple of simple tests to assess your condition, and then we can discuss what happened to you."

"Where's Dean, where's my brother?" Sam asked impatiently interrupting him. His voice sounded hoarse and his throat was sore. "How is he?"

The doctor smiled and asked, "Dean is your brother? We assumed you were related based on your names, but we didn't know for sure." Sam sighed deeply, and the doctor correctly guessed his mental state. "He is suffering from moderate hypothermia. He is not in any danger, but he is unconscious. According to Melissa, he was under water for less than two minutes before you pulled him out. The relative short time in the water, combined with the immediate life-saving measures, and the cold temperature of the lake, all worked in his favor," the doctor rattled off.

"I want to see him," Sam stated by way of reply.

"I'm afraid that is impossible," the doctor said with a look of empathy. "Although we inserted a chest tube with a flutter valve, you should not be moved from this bed until we remove it. Gillian, you can remove those restraints now. Obviously, Mr. Richards is fully awake, and alert."

"Right away, Dr. Polson," Gillian replied. Sam caught sight of Gillian's bright, geometric patterned shirt out of the corner of his eye when she removed the restraints. Once his hands were free, Sam fingered the nasal canula. It explained part of the strange feeling he experienced while breathing.

At Sam's questioning look, Dr Polson returned the conversation back to Sam's condition. "You have two broken ribs," at Sam's nod, he knew it was a previous injury and continued, "The strain of pulling your brother out of the water caused one of those ribs to shift and lacerate your lung. You suffered from a condition known as pneumothorax causing the lung to partially collapse. We were forced to insert a chest tube to relieve the pressure and re-inflate your lung. The paramedics intubated you, so if your throat feels dry or raw, that is a possible side effect. Also, there appears to be a pre-existing respiratory infection, and low grade fever, so we are administering a round of intravenous antibiotics. In your semi-conscious state you tried several times to remove the chest tube, and that is what necessitated the restraints."

"The doctor I saw before mentioned walking pneumonia," Sam confessed and then abruptly shifted the conversation. "I still need to see my brother." He knew he was being unreasonable, but the need to see for himself, that Dean was breathing, was overwhelming.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dr. Polson replied his kind, blue eyes reflecting genuine regret. "Dean is in ICU as a precautionary measure right now, and two beds just won't fit in those rooms. We may be able to move Dean in as little as eight to twelve hours, and then we can look into moving you to the same room."

"That's too long," Sam protested struggling to sit up again. "Dean needs me." He could not explain the overwhelming sense of urgency he had to see his big brother. He felt if he did not see Dean soon, something awful would happen. With dawning realization Sam understood it was a desire born out of historical experiences. Having his brother return from the brink of death, twice in the past year, had been an excruciating ordeal. He lived in constant, unvoiced fear that Dean was going to die, and even worse, that when that day came it would be to save him.

Sam felt warmth spreading through his body, and he realized they had drugged him with either a painkiller or a sedative. Not that it mattered, his body was betraying him, growing heavier and heavier, until he sank deep into the hard mattress and fell asleep.

Down in ICU, warning alarms sounded as Dean's heart monitor chugged in erratic disrhythmia.

_Dean walked through a long corridor with doors on all sides. Small, dim lamps on tables scattered periodically by the doorways lit the corridor. Dean tried several of the doors, but they were all locked. No need to kick down a door when there was no way of knowing which door led out of here, or to Sam. _

_Further down the corridor, a door opened slowly, and a very familiar man with brown hair, wearing blue jeans and a leather coat emerged. "Dad," Dean whispered. Of all the people who could have appeared before him at this moment, he doubted anyone would have surprised him more._

"_Son," John acknowledged with a nod. _

"_What are you doing here, Dad?" Dean asked. He waited for his father to continue, shifting impatiently from his left foot, to his right. _

_John placed his hand on Dean's shoulder and replied, "I'm not really here, kiddo. You know that, but you're walking around somewhere you shouldn't be either. You should be with your brother."_

"_I **should **be dead. You never should have made that deal, Dad!" Dean snapped attempting to walk around his father. _

_John blocked Dean's passage. He shook his head and smirked. "You really are thick-headed sometimes, you know that, Dean?" He shook his head, "I guess you come by that honestly. This is the place you are not meant to be. Sam is waiting for you back in the hospital."_

"_Then why are you here?" Dean asked his eyes scanning his father's face. "I'm trying to find Sam. I'm trying to take care of him, to save him. I'm not running away from him."_

"_I know you are, son, but you're headed the wrong direction," John insisted. "You need to turn around and fight to go back. That's an order, Dean go back while you still have a choice."_

_Dean looked down, and wavered on the edge of indecision. It could be a trick of his mind, or it could somehow really be his father. When he looked back up, his father was gone. He turned on his heel and ran back down the corridor in the opposite direction._

"Sam!" Dean sat bolt upright in bed. He sat there for several seconds, his chest heaving trying to pull in enough oxygen. He needed to find Sam. In an act of desperation, Dean pulled out his I.V. and applied pressure to staunch the blood flow. He ripped the heart monitor pad off his chest, swung his legs off the bed and stood up quickly.

"Bad idea," Dean moaned when the room spun out of control. He sat back down on the bed, and took several breaths as deep as he was able. When his vision cleared Dean stood up again, slowly this time. The room still lurched, and his stomach flipped in protest. With small, hesitant steps Dean made his way across the room, and out into the hall.

Getting past the nurses' station and into Sam's room was disturbingly easy in Dean's opinion. In the hospital staff's defense, it was a small community hospital, and Dean was a trained hunter. His hand shook as he reached forward to pull back the white curtain. Dean stared helplessly at Sam as he lay unconscious in the hospital bed.

He thought back to a time when he and Sam were both younger. When Sam's injuries were easily fixed with band-aids and hugs, and when he first made the vow nothing would be able to get past him again and hurt his little brother. That was so long ago. It had not taken long to learn that nothing was certain, no matter how much you tried. That life was unpredictable and random, and while beautiful, it could also be painful and even violent. He remembered with startling clarity, despite the passage of time, the first time something as simple as a cold had morphed into a nerve-jangling experience.

_Dean wiped the sweat from Sammy's face with a cold washcloth pushing his too long curls away from his forehead. "Dad will be home soon, Sammy," he said._

_Sammy turned his head towards Dean. "It's okay, you're here," he replied weakly._

_Dean smiled reassuringly, his brother's confidence in him overwhelmed him. Dean was only ten, but he knew that a temperature of 103 degrees was dangerous. He was not at all sure he could handle this without his father, but he would never let Sammy know that. "That's right, I'm here, and you'll be fine," he replied with a confidence he didn't feel. _

_Dean stood to get more Tylenol for Sammy. As he turned to leave, Sammy grabbed his arm. "Don't go, Dean," Sammy protested._

_Dean looked back at Sammy, and smiled. "I'm not going anywhere, kiddo," he replied._

"_Never, ever?" Sammy asked his hazel eyes glassy with fever._

"_Never, ever," Dean promised._

"Mr. Richards!" Dr. Polson shouted his blue eyes flashing in frustration.

Dean snapped back to the present time, and stared past Dr. Polson at Sam.

"Mr. Richards!" Dr. Polson repeated.

'Oh, right, he was Mr. Richards, the guy with the insurance,' Dean thought. He spared a glance at Dr. Polson in acknowledgement. Dean tried to step around the doctor when he walked in between him and Sam, but was stopped short by Dr. Polson.

"Listen, Dean, I want you back in your room. You aren't doing your brother any favors, right now," Dr. Polson ordered.

"I'm not leaving him," Dean insisted taking his eyes off of Sam to glare the doctor. Dr. Polson's thinning brown hair was brushed in a sweeping comb over. His nametag was partially concealed by the Daffy Duck tie he was wearing. 'Great, Sam's doctor is a quack,' he snorted amused by his own joke.

Dr. Polson grabbed Dean's arm and said, "If you don't go with the nurse right now, I'll have you forcibly removed."

Dean's green eyes narrowed, and flashed angrily. He shrugged out of Dr. Polson's grip. If there was one thing the entire Winchester family had in common it was that they did not respond well to threats. "You would regret that," Dean answered calmly.

Dr. Polson realized his approach was a mistake, and for a moment he was actually afraid of the man in front of him. He had no doubt Dean meant what he said, and that he was capable of following through on his threat despite his weakened condition. Discretion being the better part of valor, Dr. Polson abruptly switched gears. "Vicky, grab Mr. Richards a wheelchair please," he called to the nurse in the hall. Turning his attention back to Dean he stated, "Dean, I'm sorry, but you aren't strong enough to be out of bed right now. I will allow you to stay with Sam for ten minutes, if you sit down in the wheel chair, and leave with Vicky when the time is up."

"I'm not leaving," Dean replied obstinately. He was nearing the end of his endurance, and did not think he could manage to stay on his feet much longer. He started reaching for the bed rail to maintain his balance but decided against it. There was no way he was giving that doctor any ammunition to use against him.

"Sam is doing quite well, actually," Dr. Polson supplied. "One of his broken ribs lacerated his right lung. We were forced to insert a chest tube to re-inflate his lung, but he has made steady improvement." Dr. Polson laid a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder. "We may be able to remove it as early as tomorrow afternoon."

Dean could hear Dr. Polson giving Vicky instructions to have another bed brought in before he felt the wheelchair gently press against his legs, and the hand on his shoulder steadied his descent. He heard retreating footsteps, and he was alone with his brother.

Leaning forward, Dean resisted the urge to grab Sam's hand. He was shocked by how pale Sam looked, and somehow Dean knew Sam had hurt himself helping him. He leaned forward and whispered harshly in Sam's ear, "You need to be more careful. Do you hear me?"

Sam's eyes chose that exact moment to flutter open. "Dude, personal space," he croaked.

Dean sat up quickly, and covered his embarrassment at being caught hovering by quipping, "I was just trying to figure out what that smell was. When's the last time you showered, man?"

"Nice," Sam replied sleepily. He shifted slightly to get a better view of his brother, and squinted into the dim light. "You okay?"

"I'm better than okay," Dean answered flippantly. "I'm devastatingly handsome and charming."

"Pffft!" Sam sputtered. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open; the drugs were obviously still in full effect. "Seriously, are you okay?"

"I'm good," Dean replied. "What about you?"

"I'm good," Sam slurred with a deep yawn. He coughed several times, and groaned.

"You sound like it," Dean replied sarcastically. He looked over as two orderlies pushed another bed into the room. They jammed it into the small space by the door, and left. Vicky came back into the room with another nurse in tow.

"Gillian is going to help me get you into bed," Vicky said.

"Yeah, okay," Dean agreed tiredly. He noticed Sam was struggling to stay awake, and figured Sam would not go back to sleep until he was at least in bed.

Vicky pushed Dean over to his bed, and set the brakes on the wheelchair. She folded up the footrests, and moved them to the side. Dean's head nodded until his chin dipped almost to his chest. He looked up at Vicky when she touched his arm. "Are you ready?" she asked.

"I'm always ready," Dean replied in a suggestive tone with a grin, and was rewarded with a blush from Vicky. "But, I don't think Sam here would appreciate that." He attempted to stand back up on his own, but a couple of feeble tries later, he gave up.

Vicky and Gillian gripped his arms carefully, and maneuvered him into the bed. "Good night, guys," Vicky said before leaving.

"Thanks, Vick," Gillian called out to Vicky's retreating form.

"Sure thing," Vicky's voice came from the hall.

Gillian smoothed the blankets on Dean's bed. She switched on the light above him, and pulled the side table closer. Gillian expertly prepared the supplies on the table. After dabbing Dean's arm with gauze dipped in Betadine, she started to re-insert the I.V. "No," he declared hotly grabbing her wrist.

"Dean, the doctor wants," Gillian started her brown eyes reflecting concern.

"I don't care what he wants," Dean interjected. "I said, no."

"All right, I won't," Gillian agreed. When Dean failed to release her wrist she patted his arm with her other hand. "It's okay to let go now."

"Sorry," Dean apologized pulling his hand away. He took note of the angry red marks on her wrist where his fingers had dug into her flesh. He met her eyes, and apologized again.

"Don't worry about it," Gillian said gathering the supplies. She turned off the light and walked out the door.

"Dean, you should have let her take care of you," Sam scolded. His voice sounded far away, and Dean noticed his eyes were closed.

"Go to sleep, Sam," Dean shot back without any real heat.

"You first," Sam taunted.

"I'm the oldest," Dean reminded him needlessly, and folded both arms behind his head. "I don't have to go to sleep when you do."

"That's not fair," Sam played along. He yawned, and winced at the pull on his chest.

"Life's not fair, so go to sleep and get over it," Dean said voicing his standard reply. When he received no further response from Sam he looked over to the other bed and discovered Sam had fallen asleep.

Dean's thoughts drifted from Sam, to the case. He did not know how long they had been at the hospital, but he was willing to bet it had been several hours at the very least. It was only two weeks away from the spring equinox, and there had been only one death so far. The spirit was obviously ready to cause another death, and they could not afford the delay. Unable to avoid the pull of slumber any longer, Dean drifted off into a fitful sleep.

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AN: For the record, I've never watched Babylon 5, but I loved the quote. (c:

TBC – feedback always welcome. Thanks for reading!

I have responded to everyone who reviewed, so if you did not get a response, please blame the site, not me. BG. I'm not sure how that works when the alerts are down.

I'll be posting Sunday, whether the alerts are working or not.

A big thank you to those of you who submitted anonymous, (or semi-anonymous) reviews. Since I can't thank you personally, I thought I'd just give you a shout out.


	4. Chapter 4

**An Old Haunt for a New Hunt**

**Disclaimer: **Supernatural is owned by Kripke and the CW. I'm just having a little fun.

Thank you, Jubilea for proof-reading. It is always appreciated!

A special thank you to Phoenix, I hope you know why.

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_Dean's thoughts drifted from Sam, to the case. He did not know how long they had been at the hospital, but he was willing to bet it had been several hours at the very least. It was only two weeks away from the spring equinox, and there had been only one death so far. The spirit was obviously ready to cause another death, and they could not afford the delay. Unable to avoid the pull of slumber any longer, Dean drifted off into a fitful sleep. _

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"Sam, are you awake? Sam?"

Sam groaned low in his chest, and attempted to open his eyes. He wished she would go away. Shouldn't he be allowed to sleep? On the second attempt, Sam managed to pry his eyes open, and squinted against the bright light. He tried to speak, but all that he managed was a hoarse, grating whisper, "Where's Dean?"

"Sam, try to take it easy. We need to assess your condition before we attempt to remove the chest tube," a woman in bright white clothes replied.

Sam licked his lips, and tried clearing his throat before he asked again, "Where's my brother? Where's Dean?"

"He's fine," the nurse replied with a guilty look on her face.

'You're lying. Why are you lying?' Sam thought. "Where's Dean?" he asked a third time. This time he struggled briefly to get up.

"Sam, you need to relax," Dr. Polson replied stepping into view.

Sam was surprised to see Dr. Polson. It was if the man never went home. Sam grabbed the bed rails, and struggled to sit up. The pull on his ribs set off a round of fresh coughing leaving Sam panting in shallow breaths.

"You see, that is why you need to relax," Dr. Polson reprimanded. At Sam's glare he added, "Dean doesn't appear to be in the hospital."

"He left?" Sam asked incredulous. He was genuinely surprised Dean had left without waiting for him to wake up this morning.

"Perhaps, but he didn't really mention where he was headed," Dr. Polson said evading Sam's true question. Seeing his patient struggle to move again, he sighed. Apparently both brothers were equally mule-headed. "He stayed with you until after breakfast, and then he was gone. I suspect he stepped outside briefly for a bit of fresh air."

"What, you mean you don't know?" Sam asked. His voice lacked the ferocity his eyes conveyed.

"He left after signing discharge papers, but he didn't leave word with anyone. Trust me, he wouldn't stay gone long with you here. I think he thought he could leave for a while and no one would notice. It's a very small hospital. We noticed," Dr. Polson replied not without a note of sarcasm.

"I'm leaving," Sam stated simply. He was relieved to find the I.V. and the heart monitor had already been removed. He pushed the blankets down the bed, until he could kick them off his legs. It was not hard for Sam to figure out where Dean had gone, and the thought of Dean at the lake without backup was not a pleasant one.

"We need to run some tests before we release you," Dr. Polson insisted. At Sam's continued struggles he added, "Your body has been through a great deal. We need to make sure you are ready to have the chest tube removed first."

"I'm leaving," Sam ground out. He succeeded in sitting up. He sat on the bed, breathing deeply, and sweating from the exertion.

Dr. Polson lowered the bed rail. "If you can stand up, and walk out of here, I won't stop you," he stated pompously.

With a steely resolve, Sam swung his legs off the bed. His head was swimming, but he managed to get both of his feet resting on the cold tiled floor. In another instant he was up, and then, he wasn't. Knees buckling, vision graying, Sam fell towards the floor. Dr. Polson reached for Sam, and wrenched his back as he swung the taller man back onto the bed. Sam gripped the bed sheets in his fists to ground himself.

"You boys are incorrigible," Dr. Polson moaned pressing his hand into the small of his back to relieve the muscle spasm. "Trina, I could use some help in here!" he shouted.

……………………………………………………

Dean awoke slowly, drifting upwards through layers of sleep. The first thing to return was his hearing. The thrumming beat of rock music echoed in his ears, thumping insistently on his nerves, and forcing him further into awareness. Feeling came next, and the cold seeping into his bones pushed him the final step.

Dean opened his eyes, and took in the interior of the Impala. He remembered then, his oh so logical reasons for hitching a ride to the lake to retrieve the car. They could not risk the weapons in the trunk being discovered, or too many questions being asked. It seemed like a very easy task this morning. He had convinced the nurse, Vicky, to drive him out to the lake at the end of her shift this morning. He figured it would only be twenty minutes round trip, and he would be back before Sam was even awake.

What Dean had not counted on was just how quickly he would tire. After checking on the integrity of the trunk, he had sat down in the car to rest. He must have fallen asleep. Stretching carefully, Dean decided he was not feeling too bad, really. Sleeping in the Impala was more restful than the taco bed or the hospital had been. He started the car to check on the battery, and was pleased when she fired right up. Dean was not sure how long he had been sleeping, but it had been a long time, too long. Sam was sure to be awake by now.

He was busted either way, so Dean decided to investigate the area around the lake before returning to the hospital. Sam was safer where he was for now anyway. Dean had not asked how Sam had managed to end up with a tube in his chest, but he could figure it out with little effort. Sam had been hurt getting him out of the lake.

The spirit had lured him out onto the dock easily; her damsel in distress act was very convincing. He mentally berated himself for making such a rookie mistake. _"When you see people in danger, you just react, Dean. You never think about the danger to yourself. It's going to get you killed one day, if you're not careful!" _Sam's voice from a previous argument bellowed in his head.

"Leave me alone, Sam," Dean grumbled. It seemed, even when he was not here, Sam was still a pain his ass.

……………………………………………………….

"We're almost done, Sam," Dr. Polson spoke reassuringly. "A few more sutures and we'll be there."

"Good," Sam replied succinctly. Obviously, this was not the first time he had required stitches, but it was one of the few times he could remember he had received a local analgesic beforehand. Previously, he had either been unconscious or fully awake and at some motel room while his dad or Dean carefully and expertly sutured his injuries. This was different. He felt a numb, tugging sensation, but no sharp pain as the needle entered his skin and the thread pulled through his flesh.

"All done," Dr. Polson said with a smile. He patted Sam on the arm, and walked over to the sink. He removed his gloves, and washed his hands before returning to Sam. The nurse cleaned the area, and applied gauze dressing while Dr. Polson listened to his lungs for what felt like the umpteenth time today. "Okay, Sam, it sounds good," Dr. Polson remarked. "Don't get me wrong, there is definitely fluid in your lungs, but you have good respirations in both lungs."

Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, and announced by way of reply, "If you're done, then I'm leaving."

Dr. Polson ran his hand through his thin hair, and sighed loudly. Working in a small town hospital, he had seen more than his share of stubborn farmers, but these two boys were testing his patience. "Sam, what's the hurry all of a sudden? Dean is fine, and you could really use some more down time. A shower, some lunch, maybe even, oh, I don't know, rest for awhile, allow your body to heal."

Sam knew the doctor was frustrated with his behavior, but he could not explain himself. After all, 'My brother was sucked into the lake by an angry spirit, and I'm afraid he's there now trying to get himself killed,' really would get him an extended stay in the hospital. Only this time, it would be under psychiatric care.

"I can shower at the motel," Sam replied instead. "We have a deadline to meet at the paper, and…." Sam's voice trailed off. He realized he really did not know how much time had passed since they were at the lake. "How long have I been here?" he asked suddenly.

Dr. Polson looked up at the clock, and did a quick calculation. "At approximately 13:30, it will be forty-three hours, since you and Dean were brought in," he answered.

'Two days? He'd lost nearly two days?' Sam's mind whirred. He was sure now, that Dean was investigating at the lake, as there were only a few hours of daylight left. He had tried calling Dean's cell before the doctor removed the chest tube, and had not been able to reach him. "That means I have to hustle to get my story in on time," Sam replied with a calmness he did not feel. "I'll sign the papers, and head back to the motel."

"I'll have the papers drawn up," Dr. Polson said, resigned to the fact his patient was leaving whether he felt he should or not. "By the time you're done showering, and getting dressed the papers should be ready."

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was a blatant stalling attempt, and he could see right through it. "I'll be ready to go in ten minutes," Sam replied. He stood up carefully, and took a couple of minutes to regain his equilibrium. "Make that fifteen," he amended reluctantly. With slow, measured steps, he gathered his clothes, and made his way to the shower.

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Dean parked the Impala near a small cabin by the lake. He slowly exited the car, and stretched taut muscles. His phone jangled with a loud, tinny sound from inside his pocket, and Dean pulled it out to look at the caller I.D. The readout was partially missing, but Dean could read enough to see it was Sam calling him. He stood there, debating whether or not to answer the call for several seconds before flipping open his phone.

"Yeah?" Dean asked. He heard the mechanical notes of a lost signal, and looked at the readout on his cell. Either the battery was dead, or the water damage from being submerged in the lake, had killed his phone. Pocketing the phone, Dean knew he should let Sam know he was okay, and that he would be back for him soon. However, he was not going to waste the opportunity to investigate. He would stay away from the lake, but he was going to talk to the family who lived in the cabin. He would figure out a way to get in touch with Sam later.

Dean walked up the sandy path to the door, and took note of the name on the mailbox. A blonde woman in her thirties answered the door on the third knock. She had a toddler boy resting on one hip, and Dean could see two older girls running around inside the house. The boy was pushing a finger up his nostril, and pulling it out with a long, ropy line of mucous attached. The mucous strand disappeared as the boy sucked it into his mouth. Dean blinked hard several times, and tried without much success to keep the disgusted look off his face. Dean was grateful Sam had never done things like that.

"Ma'am, I work for the _Star Tribune_, and we're doing a follow up piece on the drownings that have occurred here at the lake. Would you have a few minutes to talk to me?" Dean asked throwing on his best, fake polite smile.

"Yah, sure," she replied opening the door wider to allow Dean to step into the house. "It's been such a terrible thing, don't ya know?"

"Yeah, I do," Dean replied. Maybe he should have waited for Sam. Sam was so much better at this empathy thing than he was. Dean followed the woman through the front of the living room and into the kitchen. It was yellow. The walls and curtains were both yellow, the Formica tabletop was yellow, the linoleum was yellow, and even the appliances were a '70's gold color. A metal cross hung in the bay window of the kitchen catching the afternoon light, and tossing sun-cats onto the walls. If it were any more cheerful in this room, Dean would seriously have to vomit.

The woman gestured Dean a seat, and turned to the counter. She handed a cookie to the little boy, who then squirmed to get down and ran off. "Would you like a cookie, Mr…?" she asked.

"Richards, but call me Dean," he supplied. His stomach rumbled. He would very much like a cookie, but the image of the booger-boy kept him from accepting one. "No thanks, I just had lunch. Mrs. Knutson," Dean began.

"KUH-nutson," she corrected. "You pronounce the 'k', but you can call me Patty. You really are from the cities, aren't you?"

"Yeah, it's that obvious, huh?" Dean asked.

"That's okay, sweetie," Patty reassured him, taking a seat at the table. "So, what is it you want to know then?"

"Have you seen anything unusual down at the lake?" Dean asked his green eyes watching her face for a hint of hesitation or deception.

"What do you mean, by unusual?" Patty asked with an uneasy expression on her face.

"People down by the lake that shouldn't be, unexplained noises, lights…spirits," Dean explained.

"Music?" Patty asked softly, her blue eyes cast downward.

"What?" Dean asked.

"Music?" Patty repeated. "Sometimes, I hear music down at the lake. My husband thinks I'm crazy."

"Are you sure it isn't kids, maybe on the other side of the lake? You know how noise travels over water," Dean asked.

"You think I'm crazy too, but it isn't some teenage party on the other side of the lake. I've heard those too, but this is different," Patty replied. She played with a strand of hair that had come loose from the hairclip, wrapping it around her finger, and then unwinding it several times. Dean waited for her to continue. "It sounds almost like crying at times, soulful and sad, almost like a loon."

"Like a loon?" Dean asked raising his eyebrow and tilting his head fractionally. He had thought for a moment that she may be able to lead him in the right direction. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"Yes, sometimes it is a loon, sometimes it simply sounds like a loon. Most of the time it sounds sad," Patty answered. She gave Dean an uncomfortable glance and added, "And now you think I'm a loon." She sighed softly, and took a sip of coffee.

"People think I'm crazy too," Dean told her with a smile. "It doesn't make me wrong."

"Thanks," Patty replied. "Are you sure you don't want a cookie, sweetie?"

"Nah, I'm good," Dean said standing up, and handing her a card with Sam's cell phone number on it, "I have to get going, but if you think of anything else, give my associate, Sam, a call. Unfortunately, my phone isn't working."

"Yah sure," she replied standing up and walking him to the door. "You take it easy."

"Sure," Dean acknowledged and turned to head down the walk.

"Dean," Patty asked. "You aren't affiliated with the reporter who stopped by here last year, are you?"

"Ah, he said he worked for the _Tribune_?" Dean asked turning around to face her.

"Actually, he said he worked for some yellow journalism rag, but I can't remember the name," Patty replied.

Dean stopped short in his tracks and turned around to face Patty. "Do you remember what he looked like?" he asked.

"About your height, scraggly beard, brown hair, very rugged," Patty replied shading her eyes from the setting sun. "He was actually a little dangerous looking if that makes sense."

"Yeah, I guess it does," Dean replied his mind going in a hundred different directions. "I'll be in touch if I need any more information."

"You bet," Patty replied. She stepped back inside the house, and closed the door.

Dean shook his head, and started for the Impala.

…………………………………………………………………………….

Sam stood by the nurses' desk waiting for Trina to finish giving report to the next shift. She had agreed to drive him back to the motel. He had tried to convince her to take him to the lake, but she would not hear of it. She felt he should be resting. "Okay, Sam, let's go," Trina stated. She gave Sam a wide smile, and led the way down the corridor. Despite his significantly longer stride, Sam had a difficult time keeping pace with her.

Trina looked back at Sam and frowned. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I walk this hall all day long, so I guess I only know one speed. Breakneck."

"No problem," Sam reassured her with a smile, though his pained eyes gave him away. "But, I hope you aren't parked too far away."

Trina's silver tinkling laugh sounded throughout the corridor. "As long as I'm in the parking lot, I can't be too far away," she quipped. She opened the outer door, and allowed Sam to walk through first.

Sam coughed several times as the blast of cold air hit his lungs. Once he had his breath he scanned the parking lot. There could not be more than thirty parking spaces. Looking behind him at the hospital, Sam realized the twenty rooms he had passed on his way out were not just the rooms on his wing, they were the entire hospital.

The look of realization on Sam's face had Trina laughing again. "There are only a little over seven hundred people in this town. The only reason we have a hospital this big is because it is a county hospital. Believe it or not, we are the largest town in the county," Trina said walking towards her car.

Sam gave her a sheepish look and replied, "I was wondering why Dr. Polson was the only doctor I ever saw. I was beginning to think he lived here."

Trina stopped on the driver's side, and looked over at Sam from across the roof of her small two-door hatchback. "Welcome to small town America, Sam," she said. "If you play your cards right we may invite you back for the Fleckafest in August."

Sam tilted his head and huffed through his nose before gracing Trina with a dimpled smile. "Fleckafest?" he asked amused.

"Hey, it's our biggest town event all year," she defended unlocking the doors, and climbing into the car. "Don't knock it until you've tried the tried it. Mrs. Westrom makes killer lefse, and she always runs a booth along the parade route." Sam raised an eyebrow, and shook his head before folding his long legs into the cramped passenger seat.

Four short blocks later, Trina dropped Sam off at the motel. "Thanks for the ride," Sam said extricating himself from the car.

"You betcha," Trina replied. She watched as Sam slowly made his way to the motel. Trina rolled down the window and called out to Sam, "You take it easy!"

Sam turned away from the door, and waved at Trina. He waited until she pulled out of the parking lot to turn back around and quickly pick the lock on the motel door.

The smell of rotting food assaulted his nose, despite his sinus congestion. Sam nearly gagged on the smell, and coughed several times hoping he would not lose his meager lunch. He left the door open, and walked over to the side and front windows, and opened those as well. The cold, spring air rushed in, cooling the room. He did not care how cold it became in the room, it was better than the smell.

Sam threw the food containers away in the small garbage can. Tying a knot to close the bag, Sam walked it out to the dumpster. Sam peered over at the motel office, and decided he needed a little more than just the absence of the offending items to clear out the smell. The bell jingled softly when Sam opened the door, and the motel clerk looked up when he entered.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but we left some food out. I threw it away, but the smell isn't going away very quickly. Could I borrow some air freshener, or Lysol?" Sam asked with a grimace remembering the offensive odor.

"Uff-da," she replied with a frown. "It must be pretty bad for a young man to notice the smell." She pulled out a can of lavender-scented air freshener, and a box of bleach wipes from under the counter. "Keep them as long as you need. Just leave them in the room when you check out."

"Thanks," Sam answered with a grateful smile.

"You bet," she replied. "My name's Becky, by the way."

"Sam," he reciprocated.

"Good luck, Sam," Becky replied turning back to her book. "If you can't get the smell out, please let me know."

"Yeah, okay," he responded turning to leave. He stopped at the door, turned back to Becky and asked, "Hey, is there a taxi service I could call?"

"I'm afraid not," Becky replied pushing a wayward lock of bright, red hair back behind her ear. "I take it Dean has the car?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, surprised she knew he was with Dean. "I think he's out at Pomme de Terre lake, and I was hoping to snag a ride."

"Well, if he's not back by five o'clock, I'll give you a ride out there myself. I'm sure you're worried after what happened on Wednesday," Becky offered.

Sam's eyebrow shot up at that remark, and he could feel the surprise marking his features. "How…?"

"It's a very small town, Sam," Becky replied with a small smile. "Everybody knows everything about everything and everybody. I doubt there's a single person in town that doesn't know. I should have checked your room before, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had food in there, or I would have thrown it away for you."

"It's not a problem," Sam replied distractedly, furrowing his brow. The high attention rate he and Dean were getting was not a good thing. He hoped it stopped at idle town gossip, and not poking into their past. "Thanks again for the cleaning supplies."

"You bet," Becky answered. She turned once again to her book, and Sam beat it out the door.

………………………………………………………………….

Dean opened the door to the Impala, but his mind was still on Patty's last comments. 'Had another hunter been here before, or had he been a real reporter?' The description could have been anyone, but Dean could not help but think of his father. He put the keys in the ignition, and caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Dean pulled out his gun with lightening speed, and turned on the intruder in the Impala. It was the spirit. She was sitting in Sam's seat, the wet hem on her skirt dripping water onto the floor mat. "Hey!" Dean shouted pointing his gun at Diane's spirit, "You're getting water in my car!"

Diane turned, and looked at Dean through dead-white eyes. Dean pulled his finger tighter against the trigger. He did not really want to shoot her. Although the gun was loaded with silver bullets, even if it worked, the bullet would pass through the spirit and lodge itself in his car.

He hesitated for just a moment longer, and then the spirit did something Dean never would have expected. She curled her finger and beckoned Dean to follow her. She disappeared from the car, and reappeared in front of the Impala closer to the lake. She gestured again, for Dean to follow her before turning and walking towards the lake. Shortly before she reached the water, she disappeared.

"Like hell," Dean said out loud. He threw the Impala into reverse, and headed back to the hospital to find Sam. He knew he had been gone too long already. The sun was low in the sky, and Dean estimated it was at least four-thirty in the afternoon. He had left the hospital at eleven o'clock this morning. He could only hope Sam had waited for him, and not done something stupid, like come looking for him.

The barren fields flew by quickly, as Dean traveled the seven miles back to town in record time. He could see for miles, and Dean felt safe cutting the Impala loose without fear of being stopped by the police. As he drove past the motel on his way to the hospital, he noticed the door to their room was wide open.

Dean swung the car sharply to the left, and pulled into the parking lot too fast, sending rocks and gravel flying. He stopped the car, and quietly closed the door behind him. He slowly approached the open door from the blind side. As he neared the room, he could smell bleach and flowers.

Dean entered the room, and found Sam spraying air freshener in the bathroom, and all around the small motel room. Within seconds, the fine, misty spray saturated the air. Sam started coughing as the mist irritated his lungs. Sam grabbed the table with one hand to balance him, and cradled his chest with his left arm to protect his damaged ribs. Dean moved into the room, and placed a hand on Sam's back.

Sam spun around, grabbed Dean's arm, and drew back his fist before his brain caught up with his reflexes, and he recognized his would-be attacker was his brother. "Dean," Sam breathed with a sigh of relief.

Emotions flitted across Sam's face. Concern, relief, and frustration all made appearances before Sam's eyes and face registered his strongest feeling. Dean did not need any special, psychic abilities to read his brother's mind. Sam was pissed.

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Well, the boys are back together again at least.

Thanks for reading. I hope to see you again next time.

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The following is lifted straight from Tidia's, "The Machiavellian Prince." No offense is meant, it is simply easier than retyping. (c:

**POSTCARD CHALLENGE**

Ridley is sending out a challenge. We (Ridley and Tidia) hope other authors post this on their stories and follow suit. Rumors have it that our show may not be renewed (60/40 odds). We of course want to help. So readers and fellow authors spread the word (feel free to post this on boards and websites)

Because the show is about a road trip please send a postcard from your hometown telling Kripke and the CW the show has fans from Your Town, State, Country.

Here are the addresses:

Dawn Ostroff (Yes, she is still in charge)  
CW  
11800, Wilshire Blvd.  
Los Angeles, CA 90025

And Kripke's addy:**  
**(remember US residents will need an airmail stamp or two 39 cents stamps)

Supernatural Films Inc  
8085 Glenwood Dr.  
Burnaby BC  
V3N 5C8  
Canada


	5. Chapter 5

**An Old Haunt for a New Hunt**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own them.

Thank you to Jubilea for being a wonderful beta.

_"Few things can help an individual more than to place responsibility on him, and to let him know that you trust him." Booker T. Washington_

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_Sam spun around, grabbed Dean's arm, and drew back his fist before his brain caught up with his reflexes, and he recognized his would-be attacker was his brother. "Dean," Sam said with a sigh of relief. _

_Emotions flitted across Sam's face. Concern, relief, and frustration all made appearances before Sam's eyes and face registered his strongest feeling. Dean did not need any special, psychic abilities to read his brother's mind. Sam was pissed._

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Sam held tight to his brother's arm, and glared at Dean. Heat radiated from his body, as the intensity of his anger grew. He pushed Dean's arm away from him, and walked to the open door. The Impala was parked haphazardly way too close the motel. Dean had obviously been in a hurry.

Dean watched Sam as he built up a head of steam that would culminate with an explosion of epic proportions. Over to the door, thumb tapping on the frame, back to the table, can of air freshener slammed down so hard the table wobbled, over to the bed, where Sam bent over to pick up his duffel bag. Dean once again, easily beat Sam's slow stoop to pick up the bag, and swung it onto the bed.

Sam turned around to face his brother, and very slowly and calmly said, "Dean, knock it off."

"Sam, I get that you're pissed," Dean began, his eyes registering his concern.

"Do you?" Sam asked the volume in his voice climbing. He pushed past Dean, and walked back to the table. He pulled a wad of crumpled papers out of his pocket, and flung them on the table. His fingers snagged the string of Dean's charm necklace. Sam pulled it out of his pocket, and examined it carefully for several moments before clenching it tightly in his fist. "Were you at the lake, Dean?!" he shouted, his hoarse voice cracking. He spread his arms out wide. "Is that where you were?!"

"Yeah," Dean replied unrepentant. "You know that's where I was. I went to pick up the car, Sam."

"You were gone for hours, Dean! You obviously did more than just pick up the car, or are you trying to say it really took you that long? Even if you had to push it back, you would have been here sooner," Sam retorted hotly.

"I fell asleep in the car," Dean admitted sheepishly. "When I woke up, I decided to poke around a little bit and not waste the trip."

"And how exactly was I supposed to watch your back, man?" Sam demanded his hazel eyes flashing, his posture stiff. "We don't hunt alone."

"Actually, we do - repeatedly," Dean countered. "You have to trust me here a little. I didn't even get close to the water."

Sam's face softened a little, "I do trust you, Dean. I trust you to watch out for me, to save others," Sam admitted, and his voice dropped as he added quietly, "To save me, but, you're reckless with your own safety."

"Maybe, but I'm not stupid, Sam," Dean replied. He placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I wouldn't fall for her trick twice."

"I know," Sam replied, his anger dissipating, and with it, his sudden burst of kinetic energy. Sam slumped down onto his bed. "Did you find out anything?"

Dan sat down on his bed facing Sam. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his legs, arms stretched towards Sam. "There's a crazy lady who lives on a cabin near the lake. She hears loons."

"Loons?" Sam asked tilting his head, and smirking, "As in the state bird?"

"Huh, I always thought it was the mosquito," Dean quipped lightly. "Yeah, she hears loons. More interestingly, I think another hunter might have been here last year."

"Who?" Sam asked.

"Could have been anyone, but she described him with brown hair, a beard, and dangerous-looking," Dean replied with a small puff of laughter. "Hell, it could have been Bobby for all we know."

"Or Dad," Sam supplied with a thoughtful look.

"No way," Dean disagreed. "Dad would not have left without finishing the job."

Sam ran his fore-finger several times back and forth above his eyebrow and said, "He would have, if he was meeting up with us in Chicago."

"Meg and the shadow demons," Dean replied, remembering. "That would have been about a year ago." As soon as he said the words, Dean regretted it. One look at his brother told him Sam was remembering, thinking about his week of possession, of things he had no control over, of things that were not his fault. "Hey, hey, hey, Sam," Dean said, bumping Sam's knees with his knuckles. "Whatever Meg did was not your fault."

"Yeah, I know," Sam replied his gaze turned inward. "Accepting responsibility for events I have no control over must be an inherited trait." He looked up at Dean, and gave him a small, half-grin. "It runs in our family."

"Ah, the force is strong in this one," Dean intoned. He stood abruptly, and walked away from Sam towards the table. He turned his head slightly to the side, and asked, "You hungry?"

"Not really," Sam replied. The thought of food made Sam slightly nauseas. They had only given him clear liquids this morning at the hospital. The chicken soup from two days ago was the last solid food he had eaten. The smell of the old soup still lingered in the air mingled with bleach and lavender.

Dean surreptitiously picked up the crumpled papers off the table, and quickly scanned them. "Why don't we head down to the Home20 for a quick bite, and get to bed early? We can pick it up first thing in the morning." Dean suggested.

Sam shook his head, and stood up slowly. "Why do you even bother asking me, if you are just going to ignore me anyway?" he asked.

"I like to let you think you have some say in the matter," Dean replied. He quietly folded the papers, and shoved them in his coat pocket.

He jumped guiltily when Sam placed a hand on his shoulder. Dean turned around to face Sam with a questioning look. Sam held out his fist, in a silent request for Dean to hold out his hand. Dean obliged, and Sam dropped his necklace into his hand. "Thanks," Dean replied slipping the necklace over his head.

Dean took a close look at Sam. He was swaying slightly; his face was pale, his eyes wide, but his pupils were constricted even in the dim light of the motel room. "Change of plans, Sam. Why don't you lie down and sleep, and I'll pick up dinner?" Dean suggested attempting to gently steer his little brother towards his bed.

"No," Sam replied. He clutched the sleeve on Dean's jacket lightly. He opened and closed his fist spasmodically several times, pulling on Dean's jacket. "I'll go with you."

"Sam, what's wrong with you?" Dean asked his green eyes filled with concern. He grabbed Sam by the arms and steadied him.

Sam's eyes filled with emotion, "Nothing is wrong with me. I just don't want you traipsing off without me again."

"No, I mean what did they give you before you left the hospital?" Dean asked. He managed to clumsily maneuver his staggering brother to the bed. "You're emotions are all over the grid, Sam. Even you're not that much of a girl," Dean said jokingly. He sat down on his bed again to face Sam.

"I'm allowed to be concerned, Dean," Sam snapped, his mood slamming back to anger. "Last time we ran into that spirit she pulled you into the lake, you could have died, and you went there by yourself today."

Dean averted his eyes in a futile attempt to hide the truth. When he flicked his eyes back to Sam, he said, "I stayed away from the water, Sam. I'm fine, but I think you're having a reaction to whatever medication they gave you."

Sam narrowed his eyes, "You saw her again, didn't you?" he asked sharply, correctly guessing the reason behind Dean's guilty look.

"Yeah, I did," Dean confessed with a scowl. "She was sitting in the car, dripping water all over the upholstery."

"She was in the car?" Sam asked quietly, his eyes conveying fear for his brother. "But, she didn't try anything?"

"She wanted me to follow her to the lake," Dean answered. At the stricken look on Sam's face he quickly added, "But, I didn't follow her because I didn't have backup."

"You didn't even call," Sam replied accusingly. He was picking at the fabric pills on the motel blanket, and not returning Dean's gaze.

"I think my cell is dead," Dean replied.

When Sam's only response was to blink in confusion, Dean stood up, slapped Sam on the knee and said, "Jeez, you aren't any more fun stoned than you are drunk. Come on, kiddo, I'm taking you back to the hospital."

That seemed to snap Sam from his stupor. "No," he protested lifting his head to look at Dean. "I'm fine. I'm just having a little trouble focusing, that's all."

"Sam, it's more than that," Dean argued. He was met with wide eyes, begging him to change his mind. Dean knew he would cave to Sam, so he tried to salvage as much of a win as possible. "Okay, I'm sure you'll sleep it off," Dean capitulated. "Did you get any new prescriptions?"

Sam looked confused, and he glanced over at the table. Digging into his coat pocket, Sam pulled out two prescription scripts. "Strange, I thought I left these on the table. I guess I really am out of it."

Dean squirmed mentally as he was attacked by a guilty conscience. He should let Sam know he had actually left his discharge instructions on the table, but allowing Sam to think otherwise served two purposes. One, Sam would realize he was not up to par, and two, Dean could read over the papers and get the scoop first-hand rather than Sam's diluted version of the truth. It wasn't exactly fair, but being a big brother was not about being fair. It was about keeping his little brother safe. It was a job Dean felt he had not lived up to the past few days, and he was going to change that by whatever means necessary.

Dean snagged the prescription scripts from Sam and stated, "Why don't you sleep for awhile, and get whatever it is out of your system? I'll pick up your prescriptions and dinner."

"You're not leaving here without me," Sam stated firmly. "Besides, I don't think there's anything to sleep off. They gave it to me right before I left the hospital. It couldn't have taken that long to cause a reaction."

"How long ago was it?" Dean asked, stopping in his task long enough to shoot Sam a questioning look. He removed the blanket from his bed, folded it tightly, and tucked it, and a pillow, under his arm. He turned back around, and saw Sam staring at his watch in obvious confusion. "What?" he asked.

"It's only been a little bit over an hour," Sam replied quietly running a hand through his too-long hair. "It feels a lot longer than that."

"Time always seems longer when you are waiting…and worried," Dean conceded, suddenly understanding how long of a day Sam must have had. "I'm sorry about that, I lost track of time, and I should have come back for you first, Sam."

Dean held out his free hand as part peace offering, and part offer of assistance. Sam accepted, and Dean carefully hauled Sam to his feet, mindful of his ribs. Sam swayed slightly before regaining his balance, and Dean seriously considered reneging on his offer. The look of relief on Sam's face held Dean's tongue. He placed his hand on Sam's shoulder and shepherded his brother out the still open door. "You really are a light-weight, Sammy," Dean muttered under his breath.

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After placing an order at the restaurant, Dean left Sam in the car while he ran into the pharmacy. He was not exactly thrilled at the prospect of Sam sleeping in the car. Dean had parked the Impala where it could easily be seen from inside the pharmacy, but it was not an unobstructed view. Display racks of old magazines, dusty perfume bottles, and clearance items were blocking the window to some degree. Dean moved quickly to the counter, and waited impatiently for the pharmacist to finish helping the elderly woman in front of him in line.

"Here you go, Gladys," the pharmacist said his vowels elongated in a strong and distinctive Minnesota accent. He handed Gladys a paper bag. "So, you've taken these before, then?"

"Yah, Norlin," Gladys replied, sticking the pills in her purse. "Last time I was all bound up, I took these."

'Whoa, I really didn't need to know that,' Dean thought. He glanced out the window to check on Sam. It occurred to him, he was being unreasonable. Sam was a grown man, sleeping in a locked car, in a very small town. He doubted Sam would be safer anywhere else. There was always Sam's penchant for encountering freaks, and supernatural entities to consider, however.

"May I help you?" Norlin asked.

"Huh? Oh, sorry," Dean replied snapping his attention away from Sam and to the pharmacist. He had not even noticed Gladys leaving. He handed the prescription scripts to Norlin. "When can I pick these up?" Dean asked.

"Well, we are closing in just a few minutes, and we are only open until noon on Saturdays. So, be sure to get here…" Norlin answered, his voice trailing off. "Wait just a minute, I think Dr. Polson called these in this afternoon. He was complaining about two stubborn patients of his."

Norlin searched in the small bin of completed orders until he found the bag for Sam Richards. "Yep, here it is," Norlin said, brandishing the small, paper bag. "Dr. Polson wanted me to be sure to tell you, Sam needs to start taking these immediately, and if he develops any signs of infection to bring him back in."

"Not a problem, thanks," Dean replied, handing the pharmacist Sam's insurance card.

"Don't need it, son," Norlin said, handing Dean back the card. "Hospital faxed it over this morning. Oh, don't look so shocked. We do have modern technology around here."

Dean closed his mouth, and bit back his original reply. "Sam seems to be having a reaction of some kind to the medication he was given at the hospital."

"Does he have a fever, itching, or stomach cramping?" Norlin asked his brow furrowed.

"No, nothing like that," Dean replied. "He's just easily confused, and he's having trouble focusing. He's even a little, well, a little sensitive."

"Uh-hmmm, it sounds more like a drug sensitivity than an allergic reaction to me," Norlin replied. "If the symptoms worsen, or change I'd take him to the hospital. Otherwise, they should wear off within four to eight hours."

"Good," Dean replied. "How much do I owe you?"

"Ten dollars for your co-pay," Norlin replied. He looked at Dean thoughtfully for a minute and then added, "Or, he could simply have a point."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, pulling ten bucks out of his wallet.

"Well, a drug sensitivity causes many of the same symptoms as intoxication, not the least of which is a lowering of inhibition," Norlin explained. He poked Dean lightly in the chest and said, "Maybe, he had a point in what he was saying, but he normally wouldn't say anything."

Dean tossed the ten dollar bill onto the counter. He was not in the mood for another lecture, especially from a stranger. "Thanks," Dean replied with a nod. "I'll keep an eye on him."

"You do that," Norlin replied, turning away from Dean and putting the money in the till. By the time he turned around again, Dean was gone.

………………………………………………………………….

Sam awoke slowly to the sensation of being watched. He assumed at first it was Dean hovering, so he made no effort to pull himself out of his half-awake state. However, after several long moments he realized the presence he felt was not Dean, but someone else.

He cracked open his eyes, and peered through the fog covered passenger window. He could not see anyone, but the light was behind him, and his own reflection was blocking his view. He rubbed the fog off the window with the sleeve of his jacket, and nearly hit his head on the roof, when he jumped.

An old woman was standing merely inches from the Impala's passenger window. Her long, gray hair hung loosely down to her waist. She wore several layers of miss-matched clothing all piled onto her frail frame. She knocked on the passenger window, and her mouth was moving as if she was saying something, but Sam could not hear her.

Sam cracked the window, and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Don't answer the knockin'," the old woman replied with a heavy, Scandinavian accent. She backed slowly away from the Impala. "Don't answer the knockin'."

Sam was hit with a blast of cold air when he opened the door and exited the Impala. The sudden temperature change had him coughing lightly, but it worked up to more severe coughing in only seconds. Sam rested the palms of his hands on the hood of the car, and bent over trying to catch his breath while the coughing racked his damaged ribs. Finally, spent, he stood up carefully, and turned towards the woman, only to find himself face to face with his brother.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sam?" Dean demanded.

"I was trying to catch the old woman," Sam replied breathlessly.

"What old woman?" Dean asked concern etched on his every feature.

Sam turned in a small circle, looking in every direction. The old woman was nowhere to be seen. "I don't understand. She was just here," Sam protested.

"Sam," Dean said placing his hand on Sam's shoulder. "It's okay, let's go."

"I swear, Dean, she was just here," Sam stated. He could tell Dean did not believe him. He knew Dean thought the medication was affecting him, but a little lack of focus was hell and gone from hallucinations.

"What did she do? Did she say anything?" Dean asked, opening the passenger door.

"She was standing there, and then she knocked on the window," Sam explained sitting down in the seat. "She said, 'Don't answer the knocking.'"

"She knocks on the window, and then tells you not to answer the knocking? Talk about a mixed signal." Dean replied closing the door. He walked around the front of the Impala, and climbed into the driver's seat.

"It sounded like she was trying to warn me," Sam said. He was frustrated at his inability to string his thoughts together in a coherent pattern. He knew he was missing something, but he could not, for the life of him, figure out what it was.

"Don't worry about it, Sam," Dean replied casting his brother a concerned side-long glance. "Let's get something to eat, and then we'll both get some rest. I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out in the morning."

Sam swiveled in his seat to face Dean. "You won't go anywhere without me, right?" he asked.

"No, Sam," Dean replied apologetically. "I'm really am sorry I didn't come right back today. I know you needed me at the hospital. I'll have to admit, I didn't expect them to discharge you so early, but I should have come back sooner."

"This isn't about me, Dean," Sam argued. "It was never about me. This is about you, about you being reckless, about you not watching out for yourself. You know that whole, watching out for your brother thing?" Sam paused and waited for Dean to make eye contact with him. "It goes both ways," he finished.

"Yeah, okay, I get it," Dean replied the apology making it to his eyes this time. "I promise, the rest of the hunt, we'll stick together."

Sam rolled his eyes and remarked, "Well, that's closer, I guess."

Dean smacked Sam lightly on the arm and said, "Let's grab the food. I'm starved. Crazy-lady offered me a cookie, but I had to turn her down."

"Why?" Sam asked, snagging the bait.

Dean fired up the engine, and slowly pulled back out into Main Street. "Because, watching her son eat his own snot, killed my appetite."

Sam wrinkled his face in disgust and replied, "That's really sick."

"Hey, you're not telling me anything I don't know," Dean replied with a smirk.

Sam knew Dean was trying to restore a semblance of normalcy between them. Sam understood that his concern for his brother came very close to tipping the small canoe of Dean's control in emotionally turbulent waters. As a magnanimous gesture, Sam steered the conversation to safer territory. "You know what? I think I could eat," Sam announced.

"That's my boy," Dean said. He eased the Impala to a stop across the street from the Home20. "Wait here, I'll go pick up our order."

"Dean, it won't take any more time to eat it here, than I would at the motel. Let's just go inside to eat," Sam suggested. He could hear Dean making noises of protest as he slowly exited the car.

"Sam, stop," Dean said in a commanding tone. Sam turned around in the middle of the street to look back at his brother.

"You really think this is the safest place to have this conversation? I could get hit by a car," Sam noted with a bemused expression on his face.

"This isn't exactly a street full of roaring activity," Dean responded dryly, nevertheless pulling Sam towards the restaurant. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

"Dean, it's just dinner," Sam replied with a hint of amusement. "Unless you're planning on creating some excitement in there, I'm good." He turned away from Dean to walk into the restaurant, but was stopped short by a hand on his arm.

"What makes you think I'd be the one creating the excitement?" Dean asked the serious look on his face caused Sam to chuckle.

"Are you serious?" Sam asked. "Dude, you don't just find trouble, you bring it with you." He opened the door, to the restaurant and was rewarded with a waft of warm air carrying with it the fragrance of a home-cooked meal. "Age before beauty," he quipped holding the door open for Dean.

Dean's foot was across the threshold before Sam's comment registered with his brain. He turned with scowl on his face, and opened his mouth to comment, but he was interrupted by Edna. "Dean, it's good to see you again," Edna gushed, wrapping Dean in a hug.

The shocked look on Dean's face was worth the price of admission. Sam smiled, and puffed out a couple bursts of quiet laughter, before Edna turned her sights on him. "You must be Sam," she guessed, turning to approach Sam with her arms outstretched.

"No offense, Edna, but he's hurt," Dean commented. He eased himself between Sam and Edna, and put a hand on her arm.

"Oh yes, I was sorry to hear about that," Edna said sympathetically. "So, are you eating here, after all?" she asked.

"If that's not a problem, because if it is, we can…" Dean began.

"No, no problem," Edna interjected. "At least this way, I'll know you ate it instead of letting it go to waste." At Sam's questioning look, she leaned in closer to him and whispered, "Becky is my daughter-in-law."

'Of course she is,' Sam thought.

"Right this way, boys," Edna said gesturing them to a booth near the window. "I'll just slip your supper out of those boxes, and bring it out to you right away."

"Thank you," Sam replied sliding carefully into the bench seat. It was low, and hard, and he was going to have a hell of a time getting back out of it.

Dean took off his jacket, and tossed it on to the bench seat. Pushing up the sleeves of his gray Henley, Dean sat down across from Sam. Sam noticed Dean had bruises on his wrists. At first he assumed they were from when he had pulled Dean out of the lake, but they didn't look like ordinary bruises.

"I'm not sure we should waste any more time on an investigation. I think we should get on with the salt and burn, and be…hey," Dean exclaimed when Sam grabbed his arm. "Uh, Sammy, I don't really want to hold hands right now," Dean remarked sardonically.

"Shut up," Sam commanded. He pulled Dean's arm closer to him, and further under the overhead table lamp. The bruises did look like they were made by someone grabbing Dean's wrists, but they were thin, and smaller than Sam's hands.

"Okay, this is awkward," Dean muttered.

"These bruises, how long have you had them?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, ever since I woke up in the hospital I guess. Why?" Dean asked. He pulled gently against Sam's grasp, but Sam did not release his grip on Dean's arm.

"They look blue," Sam commented.

"Yeah, thus the phrase, black and blue," Dean remarked snidely.

"No, just blue," Sam contradicted releasing his hold on Dean's arm. "Take a look."

Dean lifted his arm, and took a close look at the bruises. Sam was right. They were a bright blue in color. "Well that's a little odd," he said finally.

"Supper's on, boys," Edna said choosing that moment to interrupt. "I wasn't sure what your stomachs could handle right now, so I made a lighter fare. I hope that's okay."

"Sounds great," Dean replied throwing Edna his mega-watt smile. "Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks," Sam replied. He waited until Edna walked away, and said, "I've been thinking about what you said."

"Can't go wrong there," Dean replied stabbing a piece of chicken.

"About the salt and burn," Sam continued ignoring Dean's comment. "We're in Minnesota in March."

"Yeah, so?" Dean asked as he took a drink of water. "What's your point?"

"There's still slush outside. What do you suppose the chances are the ground isn't frozen rock solid?" Sam asked. He had yet to take a bite, but when Dean looked up from his plate, Sam made a show out of taking a bite of mashed potatoes.

"Well, hell," Dean moaned. "I guess we better make damn sure we're digging up the right grave, or that's gonna suck."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

The brothers were almost finished with their meal, when the local sheriff rushed into the restaurant. "Edna!" he bellowed.

"Calm down, Larry," Edna chastised severely. "You're scaring people."

"Sorry, about that, Edna," Larry replied lowering his voice. "There's been another drowning at the lake. The doctor is trying to revive the poor woman now, but no one is holding out much hope. Anyway, folks'll be putting in a lot of hours down there, and I was hoping to pick up a little nosh for everyone."

"Oh, Lord," Edna moaned. "Who was it?"

"Emma Enderson," Larry answered. "Her daughter is taking it pretty hard. You know how Emma's had bouts of dementia, and Patty thinks she wandered away from the family home, and down to the lake, sometime after supper."

"Oh, poor Patty," Edna replied hurrying towards the kitchen. "I'll pack up some food for you in two shakes. I'll be right back," she called over her shoulder. Larry nodded and took a seat by the front door.

Sam's mind traveled back to thoughts of Dean at the lake today without him. His anger started to burn anew until he saw the look on Dean's face. "Dean?" he asked softly.

"I was just talking to Patty this afternoon," Dean replied quietly. He looked up at Sam and said forcefully, "We have to end this thing, one way or the other."

"We will," Sam reassured Dean. He slid to the edge of the bench, placed one hand on the table, and one on the back of the seat, and slowly stood up. "Let's go."

Dean nodded, grabbed his leather jacket, and tossed twenty-five dollars on the table. The two Winchesters walked out to the Impala, and drove off towards the hospital.

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TBC – feedback welcome!

A special thank you to Carocali for the booster shot.

Thank you to everyone who has been reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**An Old Haunt for a New Hunt**

**Disclaimer: **Not my action figures, but alas, the boxes have been opened.

Thank you, as always, to my most fabulous beta, the delightful Jubilea.

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_Sam's mind traveled back to thoughts of Dean at the lake today without him. His anger started to burn anew until he saw the look on Dean's face. "Dean?" he asked softly._

"_I was just talking to Patty this afternoon," Dean replied quietly. He looked up at Sam and said forcefully, "We have to end this thing, one way or the other."_

"_We will," Sam reassured Dean. He slid to the edge of the bench, placed one hand on the table, and one on the back of the seat, and slowly stood up. "Let's go."_

_Dean nodded, grabbed his leather jacket, and tossed twenty-five dollars on the table. The two Winchesters walked out to the Impala, and drove off towards the hospital._

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Dean strode purposefully into the hospital emergency entrance, and scanned quickly for any sign of Patty, keeping Sam in his peripheral vision at all times. He spotted her quickly in the small waiting area. Dean was aware of the activity in the trauma room, but headed straight for Patty. He noticed Sam was no longer following behind him, and he turned to search for him.

Sam was standing at the window to the trauma room. He was simply staring at the activity encased within the small room, and Dean hoped Sam would snap out of it soon, and join him. Dean sat down next to Patty and her three children. He sat on Patty's right-hand side so he could still see Sam. "Patty, I'm really sorry to hear about your mother," Dean said.

Patty looked up, and over at Dean with a tear-streaked face. "I'm sorry, I don't want to talk to the papers right now," she said with a genuine tone of apology lacing her words. She was holding her small boy, who was staring at Dean with wide eyes.

"I'm not here as a reporter," Dean reassured her. "I'm here as someone who wants to help." He leaned forward towards her, and asked softly, "What happened tonight, Patty?"

Patty sniffled loudly, and gently pushed her son off her lap. "Go sit with your sisters, Jeffy," she said giving him a pat on the rear to get him moving. She turned back towards Dean and said, "My mother has been sick. She's old, confused at times." Patty laughed a little through her nose and continued, "She has a quirky sense of humor, and she has – had an infectious laugh." Patty paused in her story, and gave Dean a hard look. "You really aren't doing a story, right?"

"No," Dean replied his voice husky. "I know what it is like to lose a parent. Please, Patty, I really want to help."

Patty pulled out her hair clip, and ran her fingers through her blonde hair. She twisted a strand around her finger, in the same nervous habit Dean had observed earlier that afternoon, at her home. "Mom said she heard a loon crying. I, I didn't think anything of it," Patty stuttered. "I should have listened to her. I should have checked in with her after supper tonight. She wouldn't have been able to make it all the way down to the lake if I had just checked on her. It is all my fault."

"Hey, listen to me," Dean said, sliding off the chair and crouching down in front of Patty. "This is not your fault. You took care of your mother the best you could."

"She wouldn't blame you," Sam said suddenly appearing at Dean's right elbow. "I'm sure she knows you did your best to take care of her, to keep her safe."

Patty looked up at Sam. "How can you be so sure?" she asked, a hopeful look in her eyes.

Sam returned Patty's gaze, but his words were for his brother. "Because I do," Sam replied simply, his eyes conveying his sincerity and empathy. It seemed to be what Patty needed to hear, and she visibly released some of her anxiety.

"What's going on here?" a man asked from behind Sam.

Dean stood quickly, and was in between Sam and the man before Sam had finished slowly turning around. "We're just talking to Patty," Dean explained quickly. "We heard about her mother, and wanted to see how she was doing."

"Jim, it's alright," Patty explained. "Have you heard anything?"

The look on Jim's face told Dean, Patty was not going to be happy about the news. He took that moment to steer Sam away from the Knutson's and closer to the exit. "Let's go, Sam," Dean commanded. "There's nothing else to learn here."

"Actually, there is," Sam disagreed pulling away from Dean's grasp. He walked towards the trauma window, and Dean followed closely behind. "That lady in there, Patty's mother, that was the lady on the street," Sam said staring at the sheet covered body lying on the gurney. 'It could have been, Dean,' he thought.

"You can't be sure of that, Haley Joel," Dean replied. Dean turned his eyes on Sam to gauge his reaction to this new information. He had not really believed there was a lady in the street; not truly. He had believed it was the medication. However, with the discovery of the woman on the gurney, Dean was willing to entertain the idea. A strange, old woman warning Sam about knocking of all things, he was not sure he believed. A dead woman warning Sam, he could certainly buy into.

"I am sure," Sam insisted, turning his hazel orbs to Dean. "She had the same hair, even the same clothes. I don't get it, Dean, what was she trying to tell me?" Sam looked suddenly very weary, and his eyes conveyed pain.

"Come on," Dean said, grabbing Sam's jacket sleeve. "Let's get going. Dr. Polson wanted to be sure you started your prescriptions tonight. We should get back to the motel."

"When did you talk to Dr. Polson?" Sam asked his brow knitted in confusion. He did not resist Dean's pull towards the door, or out into the parking lot.

"I didn't," Dean admitted. "But he talked to Norlin…"

"Who?" Sam asked stopping by the passenger door.

"Norlin, the pharmacist," Dean explained waiting for Sam to slowly ease into the seat. "And, he told me," Dean finished, closing the door. He walked around the Impala, and took a seat next to Sam.

Sam stared at Dean with an incredulous look. "What?" Dean asked.

"I don't know why it continues to surprise me, but it does," Sam replied with a small frown.

"Well, that's a small town grape-vine for you," Dean replied starting the Impala.

"Not that, well that too, but I meant your ability to distract me, and get me to do what you want me to do," Sam said with a small smile.

Dean had used distraction as a means to get Sam to eat vegetables, to go to sleep, or to wait for their father to return from a hunt since Sam was old enough to start talking back. It was one of the best tools he had in his arsenal against his head-strong little brother. "Why mess with a good thing?" Dean asked.

"One of these days, that won't work anymore," Sam stated.

Sam's voice was strained, and Dean noticed he was breathing shallowly. He twisted in the seat to look his brother in the eyes. "Sam?" he said.

"Hmmm?" Sam replied, looking away from Dean. He knew the direction Dean was headed, and he was hoping to avoid a confrontation. He was tapped out.

"That, apparently awesome, pain medication you had before you left the hospital, it's wearing off, isn't it?" Dean asked. He attempted to catch a glimpse of Sam's face, but Sam studiously avoided Dean's gaze. "Sam?" Dean tried again.

Sam turned towards Dean, his eyes hooded. "I'm…" he started.

"Be honest, Sammy," Dean admonished him.

Sam sighed lightly through his nose, "Yeah," he replied softly. There was a pause before he added, "I'll be okay. It isn't anything I haven't worked through before."

Dean shook his head, and pulled the car out of the parking lot. It was a fair statement; they had both worked through injuries before. It did not make it right, and it certainly did not make it something Dean was willing to put Sam through needlessly. "I don't think so, Sam. As you pointed out, we can't really dig up Diane's grave unless we are absolutely sure. A job, you won't be doing at all, by the way. Research will have to wait until morning, when we can head to Alexandria or Fergus and hook into someone's Internet access. So, unless you can think of another reason to be out and about when you shouldn't be, we're headed back to the motel," Dean stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Sam snapped his jaw closed on his first response to Dean's dictations, and opted for the path of least resistance. "Guess not," he replied simply.

"Good answer," Dean said. He stole a quick glance at Sam. The muscles in his jaw twitched in frustration, as he watched Sam fidgeting in the seat, trying to get comfortable. He hoped that the pain medication Dr. Polson prescribed was stronger than the pills Dr. What's-his-name had prescribed back in North Dakota.

Dean pulled the Impala to a stop outside the motel. In the four short blocks from the hospital to the motel, Dean agonized over every pothole, and every bump. He knew the car ride could not be comfortable, but at least it was over.

Sam managed to open the car door, and swing his long legs out the door before Dean made it around to the passenger side of the car. Dean reached inside the car, and grabbed one of Sam's arms intended to help him stand. "I got it," Sam snapped. He was obviously frustrated with his current situation and in pain, but Dean was not going to let Sam's anger build to the point he would not accept help.

"I know you do," Dean replied ducking slightly to look Sam in the eyes. "But, there's nothing to prove here, Sam. Let me help you." He wrapped his hand around Sam's arm, and bent his knees to help Sam stand. Sam was definitely heavier than his deceptively lean frame would suggest. "Oof, Sam, you're gonna have to lay off the extra-large, chocolate foo-foo coffees. Dude, you're heavy."

Sam puffed a small shot of laughter and retorted, "You're no light-weight yourself, Dean. However, in your case, I think it's all the greasy food you like to eat."

"Hey, it's all muscle," Dean insisted with a grin. He wrapped Sam's arm around his neck, and did not miss the way Sam stiffened next to him. Sam was holding his mid-section, and he seemed unable to straighten up completely.

Dean cursed the medication that had so completely masked Sam's injury for nearly four hours. There was no doubt in Dean's mind they had stayed out too long, and Sam had done too much. It was always easier to keep pain at bay, than it was to put it in its place, unless you had access to strong medication.

Dean shut the passenger door, and helped Sam to the motel room. It took three tries to unlock the door while holding Sam upright. Sam was still supporting most of his own weight, but he was tensing his jaw, and a small moan of pain escaped his lips. "We're almost there, Sam," Dean reassured him as he led Sam inside.

The room was cool, and Dean noticed the front window was still wide open. At least, the room no longer smelled as strongly of beach and flowers. Sam pulled himself away from Dean, apparently no longer willing to accept help now that he was so close to his final destination, the bed. Sam gingerly sat down on the bed, and ran his hands through his hair. He grabbed two fistfuls of hair, and tugged, before dropping his hands to his sides.

"Headache?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, a little bit," Sam replied squinting up at Dean.

"I'll get your new pain pills," Dean said turning around to close the window. The last thing Sam needed was a cold air induced coughing fit like he had earlier by the Impala. He went to the bathroom to fill a glass with water. Sam needed to take the pain pills now, before the pain increased any more. He knew even if he convinced Sam to take stronger medication tonight, he would have a harder time getting him to do so tomorrow if it was too strong. The new prescription was the dreaded Percocet. They would definitely be fighting over this in the morning.

Dean measured out the Percocet, and the new antibiotic. He walked back out to Sam only to find his brother sitting on the bed, his face pale and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. Sam had somehow managed to rid himself of his jacket, boots and jeans, but seemed to be having difficulty removing his hoody. "Here, let me," Dean said placing the water and pills on the side table. Sam had already pulled his arm out of the sleeve on his uninjured side. Dean gently pulled the sweatshirt over Sam head, and then slid it off his other arm.

"Thanks," Sam said tiredly.

"No problem," Dean replied. He reached around and grabbed the pills and water off the table, and handed them to Sam. "Take these," he commanded.

Sam raised his eyebrow, and threw Dean a look of annoyance. "Mind if I ask what I'm supposed to be taking?" he asked jiggling the pills in his hand.

"Nope, I don't mind," Dean replied with a half-grin.

After a brief pause, Sam released a sigh of long-suffering and asked, "What pills am I taking?"

"These are your new antibiotic," Dean replied pointing to the two large pills. "And these, are your new pain pills."

"Dean, stop being deliberately obtuse," Sam snapped, irritated. "What type of pain pills?"

"Percocet," Dean replied the grin falling from his face. "But, before you refuse, we are both going to bed, and there is no reason you can't take something that will knock back the pain. You'll be asleep, so it really doesn't matter how loopy you think they make you."

"I don't think they make me loopy," Sam protested. "I know they do. Don't tell me you've forgotten about the time I took them after I was hurt by the poltergeist in French Glenn?"

"How could I forget, Sammy?" Dean replied the grin reappearing on his face. "When your baby brother sings, 'The Song That Never Ends,' off-key, for over two hundred miles while you are trapped in the car with him, you tend to remember it."

"I don't remember that part at all," Sam said. "But, I do remember asking you a lot of questions about the difference between a poltergeist and an angry spirit. I don't even remember why I was asking about it."

"You didn't ask a lot of questions," Dean disagreed. "You asked the same damn question many, many, many times." Dean placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, and added, "Just take the pills, Sam. You were only fourteen last time. Besides, you need the sleep, and I'm not going anywhere without you."

Sam nodded, and swallowed the pills in one smooth motion. Dean watched as Sam struggled to pull his legs onto the bed, and carefully lay down. He was not going to interfere with Sam's efforts to do things on his own. It would only annoy Sam, and he would be less likely to do what Dean asked him to do later, if he pushed too hard now.

Within moments, Sam was asleep. Dean sat down at the small table, and smoothed out the crumpled papers he had absconded earlier that afternoon. The top sheet was a summary of Sam's injuries, care, warnings, and pain management. Possible infection, danger of recurrence, and an increased chance of pneumonia topped the list. 'Great,' Dean thought. 'He already has one of those.' It was the second page that caught Dean's attention, and caused a flare of anger, not at Sam, but at himself. Sam had signed himself out of the hospital against medical advice.

The time stamp on the paper was about forty-five minutes prior to Dean finding Sam in the motel room. A part of Dean felt guilty for not coming back to the hospital as soon as he woke up in the car. He may have been able to convince Sam to stay at the hospital and rest. The larger part, the part that knew his brother almost as well as he knew himself, understood if the situation was reversed Sam would have done the same thing. Their father's influence ran deep.

Dean carefully folded the papers, and tucked them back inside his jacket pocket. Deciding nothing more could be accomplished that night, Dean quietly undressed, and slipped into bed. He promptly fell asleep.

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Pain came unbidden as a deep ache in his chest, burning its way through muscle and bone, and radiating outwards in a spiral loop. _My chest hurts, why does my chest hurt? _Sam awoke with a start, and looked around the room trying to catch his bearings. He remembered now, the alley, the lake, the angry spirit, and his ribs.

The bed next to his had obviously been slept in, but Dean was no where to be seen. Sam struggled to sit up, and get out of bed. He padded across the green shag carpet, and opened the door of the motel room. The Impala was still parked in front of the room, the midday sun glinting off the black paint.

Sam turned towards the motel office. He could not make out any distinguishing characteristics of the man standing in the office, and yet, he knew it was Dean. There was something about the way he stood, the way he carried himself. It reminded Sam of their father.

As the cool, morning spring breeze hit his legs, Sam remembered he was only clad in boxers and a t-shirt, and he ducked back inside the room. He hoped no one had seen him. He was sure it would be all over town by dinner time if they had. He stooped to pick out clean clothes out of his duffel bag. Sam felt stiff, and sore, and he desperately wanted a hot shower before they headed out.

Sam tossed his clothes on the towel rack and turned on the shower water as hot as he could tolerate. He had finally managed to wrestle off his t-shirt when Dean banged on the bathroom door.

"Sam, are you okay in there?" Dean's muffled voice asked through the door.

"I'm good," Sam replied. He did not like how tight his voice sounded.

There was a long pause before Dean asked, "You sure?" Apparently, Dean did not like it either.

"Yeah," Sam answered. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

"No hurry," Dean replied. "If you're sure you're okay, I'm going to go gas up the Impala, and grab us some food. Apparently, the sidewalks will roll up today at noon, and nothing will be open again until Monday."

"Go for it," Sam replied. "I'm sure."

There was another pause, and Dean said, "Sam, just take the damn Percocet Dr. Looney Tunes prescribed." When Sam did not respond Dean added, "We still have to eat, and Alexandria is about fifty minutes from here. That's plenty of time for you to shake off some of the effects if there are any."

Sam did not respond for several long moments. He was thinking about his ability to conduct research, or watch Dean's back if he took the pain killers. "Sam, promise, okay?" Dean said his voice sounding less muffled. Sam guessed he was pressed to the door, trying to figure out if he was okay.

"Okay," Sam said finally.

"Promise?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, I promise," Sam replied more forcefully. He grabbed the Percocet bottle off the back of the sink and shook them loudly. "See?"

"I said take them, not shake them," Dean answered with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Just go, Dean," Sam said defeated. He dumped a pill into his hand. He was not lying to Dean. He would take the Percocet, but he was starting with a half dose. He swallowed it dry and said, "Alright, I took it, and I'll be out in about twenty minutes."

"I should be back about the same time," Dean replied his voice sounding farther away. Sam heard the door shut, and he climbed into the hot shower allowing it to pound on his sore muscles.

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Dean pulled the Impala to a stop at the only gas station in town. He automatically scanned the area for hidden danger, spots that could conceal an attacker, and the best area to seek cover in. He was not even aware of the action. Years of hunting had turned it into habit, something he no longer had to think about. As Dean swiped his card, and filled the gas tank, he could hear the two other men at the station talking.

"I don't care what you think, Ernest, those drownings don't seem natural to me," one man said pushing his cap further up on his forehead.

"You know what your problem is, Don? You're just too paranoid. Not everything is a conspiracy," Ernest replied from under the hood. He was bent over the grill to check the oil pressure in his truck.

"It's not a coincidence," Don insisted leaning over Ernest's old Chevy to get a look at the engine. "It can't be. With those kinds of odds, we should bring the lottery to town. Someone here could win it big."

"Guys, I couldn't help overhearing your conversation, and I gotta say, I agree with Don," Dean interjected. He did not look up at the men, but kept his attention focused on his car. There was no way he was going to risk spilling gas on the paint.

"See?" Don gloated.

"See what?" Ernest asked pulling a handkerchief out of his back pocket to wipe the oil off his hands. "The man's a reporter from out of town. Of course, he's going to agree with your conspiratorial view."

"I don't think it is a conspiracy," Dean said replacing the gas cap on the Impala. "But, I do think there is something going on at Pomme de Terre lake that cannot be easily explained."

"Emma was an old, crazy woman. She wandered out last night, lost her way, and drowned in the lake. End of story," Ernest insisted. He slammed the hood of his truck down, narrowly missing Don.

Don jumped back quickly and snapped, "Ernest, easy on the truck."

"You can stay here and talk to yet another reporter, but I'm headed back to the farm. I have cows that need tending," Ernest stated climbing into his truck. "I'll tell Jo Anne you and your family will be out after church tomorrow."

"You bet," Don replied. He waved at Ernest has he pulled the rumbling truck out onto the highway. Don turned his attention back to Dean. "Do you really believe there is something going on at that lake?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," Dean replied. "What do you think is going on at the lake?"

"Well, don't know if I believe it myself or not, but some folks think the lake is haunted," Don replied. He walked over to Dean, and started to circle the Impala. "Nice car," he commented with a whistle.

"Yeah, she is," Dean agreed with a smile. "What do people say about the haunting?" he asked.

"Ah, some folks, not me you understand, but some folks think it is Diane Schneeberger. She drowned in the lake five years ago. Ever since then, we've lost three people a year to that damn lake," Don explained. He ran his hand along the hood of the Impala. "She's a '67, isn't she?"

"Sure is," Dean affirmed. "What do you think?"

"I think something is out at that lake, but I don't think it is Diane. She was always such a sweet, young lady. I just can't see her hurting anyone," Don replied. "Besides, Ernest and Jo Anne are friends of mine."

Dean shot Don a questioning look and asked, "What does that have to do with Diane haunting the lake?"

"Diane was their daughter," Don replied. "So, what do you think is going on at the lake?"

"I'm not sure," Dean answered opening the door to the Impala. "But, I intend to find out."

Don laughed and commented, "You really do remind me of the reporter that was here before. He said the exact same thing, before he up and disappeared in the middle of the night."

"Do you remember his name?" Dean asked casually.

"Nope, sure don't," Don replied pulling his cap back down to shade his eyes. "But, I remember what he drove."

"Yeah?" Dean asked. "Was it as nice as my car?"

"Nah, it was a nice truck, but it wasn't as great as that Impala," Don replied. "Can't remember the year, exactly, but it was a big, black GMC. I can't say I wasn't a little jealous."

"Sounds like a nice ride," Dean agreed, but his mind was traveling past the conversation. He was almost positive now, the reporter from last year, was his father. He opened the door to the Impala, and climbed in behind the steering wheel.

"You take it easy," Don called as Dean pulled out of the gas station.

Dean waved at Don, and headed for the small, convenience store on the corner. It was only a few minutes before noon, and he really wanted some breakfast, even if it was only a microwaved breakfast burrito.

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Sam sat on the edge of the bed. He had successfully managed not only a shower, but getting dressed. The new prescription, even at half dose, was doing an adequate job of controlling the pain. He certainly did not feel as good as he had yesterday, but then, since he could not sleep the whole day away, that was probably a good thing.

He bit back concern over what was taking Dean so long to return. The overwhelming feeling from yesterday was gone, but he still could not shake the feeling Dean was in danger, and that he had to stick close to his brother.

Something more than an angry spirit was going on at the lake and Sam knew he had the clues in front of him. He needed to access the Internet so he could research it properly. Sam mulled over the facts in his head, twisting them around trying to figure out how the pieces all fit together.

He was snapped from his reverie, when Dean returned with two coffees, and a paper bag which he tossed onto the bed next to Sam. "Doughnuts, breakfast of champions," he said by way of explanation. "I picked up a coffee for you, but it is simply the plain, black, garden variety so if you don't…"

"Sounds great," Sam interrupted snagging the offered cup from Dean. He pulled out a doughnut, and took a large bite. It was wonderful. Sometimes, there was nothing better than carbs, sugar and caffeine for breakfast. He washed it down with a gulp of coffee, and the heat scorched his tongue and mouth. "Ah, hoooot," he commented.

Dean scrunched his brow in mock confusion. "No offense, Sam, but that's kind of a given. You sure you're okay this morning?" he teased.

"I am now," Sam replied taking another large bite of the doughnut. "Are you ready to go?"

"Why don't you finish eating first? More importantly, finish that coffee. I don't want you falling asleep in my car with a coffee in your hand," Dean said. "I talked to a guy at the gas station. He thinks there is something happening at the lake, but he doesn't think it is Diane's spirit. Of course, most people don't realize that being a good person in life, doesn't mean you won't be angry, or confused as a spirit. I think he's got a point though. It doesn't feel right."

"I agree," Sam said. "I need to research it further, but I think the loon, your bruises, and the spirit are all related." He popped the rest of the doughnut in his mouth. "Is there anything you can tell me about the spirit?"

"Other than she dripped water in my car?" Dean asked with a flash of annoyance appearing in his eyes. "Nope, nothing I haven't already told you. Last time, she tried to get me to follow her to the lake."

"That's not typical spirit behavior," Sam replied taking another gulp of the hot coffee. "Let's head out. I won't fall asleep after all this coffee."

"Uh-huh, okay Sam, you won't fall asleep," Dean replied sarcastically. "But, you're right. We should go."

Sam followed Dean out to the car, and carefully slid into the passenger seat. When Dean sat down, and started the car, Sam asked, "Do you have any ideas on what this thing is? I keep thinking I should know, but I'm a little fuzzy."

Dean pulled the Impala out onto the highway, and turned towards Alexandria. "Not sure, really, but I did talk to Don at the gas station for awhile. The one thing I am pretty sure of, is that it was dad who was here last year."

When that revelation was met with silence, Dean looked over at his brother. He shook his head, and smiled. "Good thing I wasn't counting on you to keep me entertained," he said quietly. He pulled the still steaming coffee out of Sam's hand, and was not surprised when it elicited no response from his little brother. He was out cold.

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"Sam, wake up," Dean said gently tapping on Sam's shoulder. "Come on, kiddo, we're here."

Sam opened his eyes, and looked out the windshield at the coffee shop. He looked over at Dean and blinked in confusion. "We're here already?" he asked.

"Actually, we've been here for nearly an hour. I thought about letting you sleep some more, but it is about time for you to take your pain pills," Dean replied. Dean held out his hand, and Sam noticed there were two pills in his hand.

"Thanks," Sam said. He popped one in his mouth, and stealthily pocketed the other while Dean was preoccupied with snagging the laptop from the back seat.

"Let's go," Dean stated as he exited the car. He stood waiting to see how easily Sam could get out of the car. When he seemed to have little difficulty, Dean heaved a silent breath of relief.

The coffee shop was a busy little place, with many display racks, and several small tables. Dean pointed a small, back table out to Sam. He set the computer down for Sam, and went to stand in line. By the time he returned with the coffee, Sam's face was already buried behind the laptop screen.

"Here you go," Dean said handing Sam one of the double, mocha lattes that he seemed to enjoy.

"Thanks," Sam replied absent-mindedly. He did not look up from the computer, but grabbed blindly for the coffee cup.

"Find anything?" Dean asked.

Sam looked at Dean from over the computer screen and scowled. "Dude, I just started," he protested. "I'm good, but even I need more time than that."

Dean nodded, and looked around the coffee shop. The cacophony of voices made it difficult to focus on any one conversation. Strike one, for keeping himself occupied. He started humming, 'Fat Bottom Girls' as he watched the young, female, coffee bartista making an espresso. When he turned around again, Sam was glaring at him. "What?" he asked with an innocent expression on his face.

"Can't you find something to do? Go talk to someone," Sam suggested.

'Strike two,' Dean thought. "Nah, I'm good," he said baiting his little brother with a lop-sided grin.

Sam sighed heavily, and returned his focus to the computer screen. Dean sat quietly for a few minutes, until his natural need for action took over, and he began beating out the rhythm of the song on the table. It started quietly at first, but built up to a knocking and humming symphony within eight measures.

"Dean!" Sam hissed. "Man, you really need to give me some space here. All that knocking and humming is making it difficult to concentrate."

"Creepy old lady did warn you about the knockin'," Dean quipped.

"Yeah, she did," Sam snapped. A light slowly dawned on his features. He typed frantically for several seconds, and then fell silent as he scanned the computer screen. A slow smile stretched across his face, and he looked up at Dean. "Dean, I think I know what it is."

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TBC – as usual, feedback welcome.

A thank you to everyone who has continued to read this story, and an extra thank you to everyone who has given feedback. It is much appreciated.

One more chapter should wrap it up!

Don't forget to send your postcard.


	7. Chapter 7

**An Old Haunt for a New Hunt**

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. sigh

**Thank you: **To the lovely Jubilea for sitting out on the balcony at the vegetarian restaurant while we worked on our stories for three hours (She's not even vegetarian). Now, that's a friend!

A special thanks to the anonymous reviewers. Since I can't thank you personally, please accept this big THANK YOU! Yep, this is the last chapter. It appears I didn't break my seven chapter trend after all.

I apologize for the delay. I really, really wanted to post this in time for the spring equinox, but RL got in the way.

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_"Life begins in a bloody mess and sometimes it ends the same way, and only odd people seek out blood between those times, maybe crazy people."_

_-- Joe Haldeman_

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"_Dean!" Sam hissed. "Man, you really need to give me some space here. All that knocking and humming is making it really hard to concentrate."_

"_Creepy old lady did warn you about the knockin'," Dean quipped._

"_Yeah, she did," Sam snapped. A light slowly dawned on his features. He typed frantically for several seconds, and then fell silent as he scanned the computer screen. A slow smile stretched across his face, and he looked up at Dean. "Dean, I think I know what it is."_

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"Well don't keep me in suspense, Sam," Dean groused. "Spill it already."

"She wasn't saying knockin'," Sam explained. "She was saying Nokken. With her accent, I just assumed she was saying knockin'."

"Uh-huh," Dean replied slowly stretching the two syllables out for several seconds. "What are you talking about? You keep repeating yourself." He looked Sam squarely in the eye, and tried to gauge his awareness level. He did not look like he was having trouble focusing. Sam's eyes appeared alert, and he had that look on his face. The one he wore when the pieces fell together and he had the solution in his sights. "This isn't the poltergeist versus the angry spirit discussion all over again, is it?" Dean asked already knowing the answer.

"What? No, I'm good," Sam replied. "The vernal equinox is in only a few days, and in many pagan cultures, the Scandinavian's included, it marked the advent of the New Year. Nokkens, water nixes or spirits are typically more active right before the New Year. That's why the deaths stop at the equinox."

"So, basically we have four days left to end this, or we'll lose our chance until next year," Dean stated. "What's the lore on this thing?"

"Shapeshifting, for one," Sam replied his eyes scanning the on-line article. "This one probably appears as the woman we saw with the dripping clothes, but also as a loon." Sam looked up from the computer. "Actually, that makes perfect sense."

"Right, because so many other spirits show up as harmless birds," Dean replied, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head fractionally in Sam's direction.

"No," Sam continued seemingly unaware of Dean's sarcasm, "Because the loon is considered the water spirit of the north by many Native American cultures."

Dean shook his head. "You really are a font of freaky facts," he quipped, secretly pleased with his alliteration.

Sam rolled his eyes and continued, "According to some Scandinavian legends, you can offer a gift of three drops of blood, a black animal, and brannvin, and he would teach you to play his music."

"Which relates to the three deaths every year," Dean affirmed. "But, since I really don't care to learn the Watuzzi Bertuzzi, you got anything else?"

"Uh," Sam paused. He typed for several moments, and then scanned the next page. "Iron crosses were sometimes used to repel nixes. There's also a legend of two children using a mirror to capture a water sprite."

"Patty has a metal cross hanging in her kitchen window," Dean said. His eyes moved back and forth as his mind mulled over the facts. "That's what keeps her family safe, or did, until Emma went down to the lake by herself." He looked up at Sam. "Consecrated iron rounds," Dean finished.

Sam nodded his head in agreement, and took a sip of his latte. He made a face at the cold temperature, and set the cup back down on the table. "How are we going to find it? It only seems to appear when it attacks."

Dean leaned back in his chair. "I know how, but you aren't going to like it," he replied.

Sam cocked his head in confusion and as the realization of Dean's implication set in, his expression turned to dismay. "No way," Sam replied emphatically.

"Sam, it's the only way," Dean insisted.

"Dean, we'll figure something else out," Sam protested.

"We can't let anyone else get hurt," Dean stated quietly, but firmly.

Sam sighed, but nodded his head in agreement. In an unspoken understanding, the Winchester brothers stood up, and Sam shoved the laptop into the leather messenger bag. Dean grabbed the bag, and ushered Sam out the door.

Dean opened the back door to put the messenger bag on the floor behind the driver's seat. He took the opportunity to clandestinely watch Sam sit down in the car. Sam was lowering himself very carefully into the seat, and seemed to be favoring his ribs. It was not anything unexpected, but considering how much Sam had been affected by the drugs last night, Dean was surprised. Granted, Sam had been tired, and his body had needed time to heal, but the two pills last night had knocked him for a loop. The two this morning, had only seemed to affect him for several hours. The two he took a little over an hour ago barely seemed to take the edge off.

Dean narrowed his eyes, as his suspicion grew into a theory. Dean opened the driver's side door, and slid in behind the wheel. "How you holding up there, Sammy?" he asked glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eye. He started the car, but did not pull out of the parking space, instead waiting for his brother to confess.

"Fine," Sam replied as he made eye contact with Dean to prove his sincerity. He tried to avoid giving away too much, but he knew he was ultimately fighting a losing battle. Sam always felt Dean was like a bloodhound when it came to sniffing out the truth. He instinctively seemed to know which people to trust, which ones were being honest, and which ones were full of soyashit.

"Sam," Dean said reproachfully. "I'll give you another shot at being honest with me."

"I am fine, but I'm not great," Sam relented. "Let's just get this over with, and then, I'll do whatever you want, I promise."

"You'll take your meds?" Dean asked pulling out of the parking spot.

"Yes," Sam replied.

"Get some rest?" Dean verified, as he pulled out onto the road.

"Yes," Sam replied more forcefully.

"You'll let me check that incision site?" Dean asked flicking his eyes over to Sam momentarily before focusing again on the road. "Don't think I didn't notice you were in the shower before I could check this morning."

"I checked it myself, in the shower," Sam defended.

"Really, with those ribs, you managed to twist enough to see it?" Dean asked, his voice modulated somewhere between surprise and outright sarcasm.

"Yeah, I did," Sam replied. Dean offered no response to Sam's declaration other than a raised eyebrow, and a slight head tilt in Sam's direction. "I didn't get a very good look," Sam conceded quietly.

"That's the most honest thing you've said so far," Dean stated.

"Like you're so good at admitting anything," Sam muttered turning his face towards the window.

"What'd you say?" Dean asked.

"Nothing," Sam replied.

Dean did not respond. Sam's need to talk would outweigh his need for action. He could wait Sam out any day. He barely kept the grin off his face, as he watched Sam jiggle his leg, and then flip the radio on. Sam spun the dial, rapidly running through several radio stations, before flipping the radio off again. "I don't understand why I have to tell you about every bump and bruise, and you don't ever have to tell me anything," Sam stated seemingly apropos of nothing.

"You don't?" Dean asked, finally allowing the suppressed grin to appear. "I would have thought it would be pretty obvious."

"Yeah, well, it isn't," Sam snapped snarkily. "Why don't you explain it to me?"

Dean's smile spread wider, uplifting at the left corner. "I'm the big brother," he replied simply.

Sam huffed and shook his head. "I don't believe that gives you carte blanche to be so bossy," Sam complained picking up an old argument.

"Actually, it does," Dean replied. "So, as soon as we get rid of the Nokken; we're going back to the motel; I'm going to check your stitches, and you, little brother, are going to get some rest." After his speech, Dean turned on the radio, and popped in a cassette. The heavy beat of Metallica's, 'Enter the Sandman,' drowned out any response Sam may have offered.

The trip continued in silence other than the classic rock thrumming through the speakers. As the cassette clicked, and forwarded to side B, they reached Pomme de Terre lake. Dean pulled the Impala to a stop as close to the lake as possible. He peered out towards the lake, but he did not see any trace of the spirit, or rather, the Nokken. "You up for this, Sam?" Dean asked slapping Sam lightly on the knee.

"Yeah," Sam replied. He turned in his seat to look at Dean. "Do we have enough consecrated iron rounds?" he asked.

"Course we do," Dean replied. He opened the door, and slid out. He walked around to the trunk. He was searching for the iron rounds, when Sam finally joined him at the trunk.

"You're sure about that?" Sam asked.

Dean gave Sam a hard look. He gazed into the trunk, and noticed the small black case, that held the consecrated iron rounds. "See?" he asked producing the rounds, and waving them in front of Sam's face. "I told you."

"You also told me there was a spirit in the toilet that would get angry if I didn't flush," Sam sniped. "I was afraid to sit down on it for a week."

"Sh'yeah, that was sweet," Dean said with half a laugh.

"I was four," Sam replied with a frown. "I think it just about killed me."

"Yeah, well you not flushing just about killed me," Dean replied unrepentant. He handed Sam a gun, and several of the iron rounds. "Load up, Sam. Let's get this over with," he said. Dean watched as Sam loaded the gun. "I want you to stay out of it, unless I tell you I need your help," he said.

Sam looked up from loading his weapon. "No," he said simply, furrowing his brow.

"Yes," Dean insisted. "She'll come to me, and I'll shoot her with the iron. There is no reason for you to get involved unless things heat up. You've had enough, Sam." Dean closed the trunk lid with one solid motion.

"Dean, no," Sam replied. "I'll be careful, but I'm not just going to stand around and watch while you face off against this thing."

"That's exactly what you're going to do," Dean said. "If you try to get involved before I say so, I'm going to kick your ass."

"Dean," Sam started, annoyed Dean was trying to boss him around.

"Sam no," Dean said stepping closer to his brother. "I mean it."

Sam sighed, but relented. "Okay," he said.

"Good," Dean replied. He slapped Sam on the shoulder, and walked towards the water. He kept his gun raised, and approached the lake cautiously. After several moments, he stopped and looked back towards Sam to make sure he was staying back.

"Dean!" Sam shouted.

Dean spun back around, and found himself face to face with Nokken. Without a moment's hesitation he fired the gun. The Nokken was pushed backwards by the force of the impact, but quickly recovered. There was a hole in her chest where the Dean's iron round had passed through, but it did not seem to be affecting her in the least. No blood oozed from the wound, nor did the Nokken appear to be in pain.

Dean shot her again, this time aiming for her heart. His surefire aim caused another hole to appear in the Nokken's chest. Again, she stumbled backwards, but regained her footing almost immediately and started approaching Dean. "That's it," Dean said impatiently. "You're going down."

The Nokken was within arm's reach of Dean when he shot again. The iron passed through her eye, and exited through the back of her head pushing her upper body backwards. She righted herself, and turned an angry face towards Dean. Sunlight filtered through her head and out of the hole where her eye had been. She clasped Dean's arm in a tight grip, and easily tossed him closer to the water.

"Sonuvabitch," Dean moaned upon impact. He had felt her strength, when she had pulled him into the lake, but he thought she would be weaker out of the water. He heard Sam fire his weapon, and hoped it would buy him time to regain his bearings. He pushed himself up off the sand, and saw the Nokken standing dangerously close to Sam. Sam's ribs would never hold up against the landing he had just experienced. "Hey!" Dean shouted.

The Nokken turned her back on Sam. Dean noticed she now had another wound on her chest. Sam's aim had been true. "You can't be tired of me already," Dean taunted her. "I'm an irresistible guy."

Dean swayed slightly as he faced off against the Nokken. As she approached closer, Dean could clearly see the water dripping from the hem of her skirt. "Sam, the iron rounds aren't enough!" Dean shouted.

"I'm working on it!" Sam shouted back. He hated to turn his back on Dean to head back to the Impala, but he had little choice. If the Nokken threw Dean as far as she did the first time, Dean would be in the water. Sam was sure he would lose Dean to her this time, if she managed to get him in the lake.

Sam ran back to the car, holding his ribs with his left arm to protect them from jostling. Reaching the car he climbed into the front seat, and hesitated. Dean was going to kill him. He gripped the rearview mirror in both hands, and pulled.

"Aaaaagh!" Sam yelled in both pain and frustration when nothing happened. He stopped pulling, and took a deep breath. He was deeply regretting the half dosages at this very moment. Sam could see the Nokken was almost on top of Dean now. In a burst of adrenaline, he pulled again on the review mirror.

Sam fell backwards against the seat with the mirror in his hands. He sat there panting for a few seconds, trying to regain his breath. He pushed himself out of the car, not even bothering to close the door behind him. When he saw the Nokken grab the front of Dean's shirt, he knew he was not going to make it in time.

Sam stopped, pulled out his weapon, and fired. He knew it was dangerous now that she was so close to Dean. The iron round could pass right through her, and hit Dean. He fell to his knees when the Nokken released her hold and dropped Dean. Digging quickly, he dug a hole in the sand, and shoved the mirror into the hole. He scooped the sand around it, leaving only a portion of the mirror uncovered.

By the time Sam managed to get back on his feet, the Nokken was almost to him. He saw Dean stand, and he knew Dean would again try to distract her to protect him. "Dean, it's okay!" Sam shouted over the wind.

"Right, great," Dean muttered. He rushed up the beach back towards the Nokken and his little brother. He did not want to risk Sam's life by shooting the water spirit. She was positioned directly between him and Sam. When he was only steps behind her, she started screeching.

The noise was deafening, and both Dean and Sam bent over, covering their ears with their hands. The Nokken continued to screech, her high-pitched wailing growing in intensity and volume. She no longer appeared corporeal, as her body twisted and swirled. The Nokken's features blended and melted together as she was pulled into the mirror.

The sudden cessation of the screeching left both Winchester brothers drawing great gulps of air in relief. Dean quickly crossed the distance between Sam and him. He grabbed Sam's upper arms, and looked him in the eyes. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "I am now." He started to kneel down when Dean stopped him.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked pulling Sam back to a standing position, and pushing him backwards towards the car.

"Getting the mirror," Sam replied. "I think the iron rounds will work…"

His response was silenced by the deafening shot from Dean's weapon. The mirror shattered into many, tiny pieces. Dean looked up, and turned towards Sam. Sam was standing with his mouth open still forming the word 'now'.

Dean smirked and remarked, "What's another seven years bad luck on top of the six hundred we already have?"

Sam simply shook his head, and turned to head back to the Impala. "Sam, where'd you find a mirror, anyway?" Dean asked. Sam did not reply. Sam wrapped his arm around his ribs, and kept walking towards the car. "Sam?" Dean called.

It was then, that Dean noticed the driver's side door was wide open. He stared incredulously at Sam's retreating form. There was no way Sam had done what Dean was thinking he had, was there? Picking up his pace, he easily caught up to Sam. Sam was already lowering himself into the passenger seat when Dean slapped his hand on the driver's side door, and leaned into the car. "You didn't, did you?" Dean asked accusingly. He was staring at the windshield where his rearview mirror had been.

"It worked," Sam replied. He winced as he pulled the door shut.

"Good thing for you," Dean said sliding behind the wheel. He had noticed Sam's wince of pain, and the way he was favoring his side. He put the facts together, and almost drew the right conclusion. "You haven't been taking the Percocet, have you?" he asked.

"Yes, I have," Sam protested. He did not look at Dean, but instead focused his attention on the lake sparkling in the light of the setting sun.

"At the right dosage?" Dean guessed again.

Sam turned to face Dean, and saw the knowing look in his face. "No," he admitted.

Dean shook his head and said, "The hunt's over."

"Yeah?" Sam asked puzzled at Dean's statement.

"Yeah, and you promised, so things are going to change as soon as we get back to the motel," Dean explained. He turned the key, and automatically glanced up to his non-existent rearview mirror to check behind him before pulling out of the parking spot. He grunted in disapproval, before turning to look behind him. He slowly pulled out of the parking spot, and out onto the highway.

Sam had not commented on Dean's declaration, and Dean glanced over at him. Sam was still holding his ribs, and breathing in shallow, controlled breaths. Dean knew Sam was hurting, and he pressed the gas pedal down further urging the Impala to over sixty miles per hour. The seven miles from the lake to the motel passed in less than ten minutes as Dean pulled to a stop outside their room.

Before Dean could walk around the Impala, Sam was already out of the car. Dean opted to unlock the motel room door instead of hovering over Sam. He had the door open in time for Sam to walk through. He followed closely behind Sam as he slowly made his way to the far bed.

Sam sat down heavily, and looked up at Dean. "I think I'm going to lie down," he said beating Dean to the punch.

"Sounds like a good idea," Dean agreed. He walked into the bathroom, and dumped two antibiotic pills into his hand. He reached into his coat pocket, and retrieved the bottle of Percocet. He poured two pain pills into his hand, and put the Percocet bottle on the back of the bathroom sink. He stopped to fill a disposable motel cup with water, and returned to Sam.

Sam was still sitting on the bed, but his head was drooping slightly, and he looked exhausted. Dean noticed Sam's jacket was thrown to the end of the bed, and his boots were off, so he had managed to do a little bit anyway. "You really should take these with food," Dean stated, holding out his hand with the pills. "I'll go get it after I check your incision."

"Don't bother on my account," Sam replied wearily. "I doubt I'll be awake long enough to eat. Besides, everything is closed, remember?"

"I know, that's why I bought a few essentials before we left," Dean replied. "It's not much, but it will at least help protect your stomach against those pills."

Sam swallowed the pills, and quickly drank the entire glass of water. When he looked up at Dean again, he noticed Dean was holding the first aid kit. He nodded his head in acceptance, and slowly eased himself into a supine position. Dean lifted Sam's t-shirt, and gently pulled the bandage off his skin. The adhesive pulled against the sensitive skin around the incision site, and Sam winced slightly.

"Sorry," Dean said softly under his breath. He pulled the swinging arm of the motel wall lamp closer to Sam and leaned in for a better look. The skin was red, but it did not look raw or infected. Satisfied the incision was healing properly Dean unwrapped a clean gauze pad, and taped it to Sam's chest. He pulled Sam's t-shirt down, and noticed Sam's eyes were closed. "Hey, kiddo, you need to eat first," Dean said.

"Hmmmm?" Sam responded without opening his eyes.

Dean did not attempt to rouse Sam further, but instead went back out to the Impala for the peanut butter crackers and the juice. He pulled the laptop out from the back seat as well, and headed back inside the room.

Sam was curled up on his uninjured side and lightly snoring through his congested sinuses. He hated to wake Sam up, but he really did need to eat a little before crashing for several hours. If the pills made Sam sick, the heaving would be painful. "Sam, wake up," Dean said, setting the crackers and juice on the side table. "Come on, I'll help you."

"I got it," Sam protested, but he made no move to sit up.

"Up and at 'em, Sammy," Dean insisted. He helped Sam sit up on the edge of the bed. Sam sat swaying slightly. His eyes were glassy and he did not make an effort to reach for the food. Dean put a cracker in Sam's hand, and unscrewed the lid on the juice bottle placing it in Sam's other hand.

Sam ate and drank mechanically until the cracker and the juice were both gone. He looked confused and unsure of what to do next, and Dean could not help but roll his eyes. He took the juice bottle from Sam, and helped him lie back down before he toppled over. Dean covered Sam with the blanket, and within seconds Sam was back asleep.

It was still early, so Dean decided to watch a little television before going to bed. Luck was with him, and he found an old movie he liked. Dean pushed his pillows up against the headboard, and sat down leaning back against the pillows, crossing his legs in front of him. He snacked on the remaining crackers, as he watched the movie.

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Dean did not remember falling asleep, but he woke with the remote stuck to his cheek, and the television was turned off. Apparently at some point, he had the sense of mind to turn it off. He stretched slowly, and looked over at Sam. Sam was still sleeping soundly, so he decided to grab a shower and pack the car.

An hour later, Dean was showered, the car was packed, his stomach was rumbling, and Sam was still asleep. Torn between whether to wake Sam or let him sleep, the decision was made for him when Sam opened his eyes.

Sam's tired hazel eyes locked onto Dean. "What time is it?" he croaked.

"It's about ten o'clock," Dean replied.

Sam slowly sat up, and stopped to rest on the edge of the bed for a moment. He started to stand when Dean said, "I need to tell you about the hunter that was here last year."

Sam looked up at him with quizzical eyes. "What, Dean?" he asked.

"It was Dad," Dean said. "I'm pretty sure it was anyway. The truck Don described sounded like Dad's truck."

Sam nodded, he was not surprised. "We finished his hunt," Sam replied, in an attempt to reassure Dean. "That's the important thing."

Dean gave Sam a sad smile. "Yeah, it is," he replied. Dean patted Sam on the shoulder. "Do you need any help, or are you good to go?"

"I'm good, and, I'll take my pills," Sam replied effectively cutting off any orders from Dean.

"I'll go check us out," Dean said watching Sam struggle to his feet. "I'll see you in a few."

"K," Sam replied walking towards the bathroom.

Dean walked out of the room, as Sam started the shower. He walked to the motel office, and found Becky reading a book. She looked up when he entered. "So, are you boys checking out today, then?" she asked.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Thanks."

"You bet," Becky replied closing her book. "I'm a little sad to see you go. We don't get very many visitors this time of year. It gets a little boring." She handed Dean a receipt for the week, and said, "You take it easy."

"I'll take it any way I can get it," Dean said with his trademark smile, and was rewarded with a deep red blush from Becky.

"Uh, just leave the key in the room," Becky managed to stammer.

"No problem," Dean replied. He walked out the door, the small bell signaling his departure. When Dean returned to the motel room, the water was no longer running, so Dean knew Sam was out of the shower. He checked the room for any forgotten items, but he did not find any. Sam emerged moments later, his wet hair sticking out in all directions, and his t-shirt sticking to his still damp skin.

"Hey," Sam said acknowledging Dean with a nod. He sat down on his bed, and reached down for his boots, tossing his dirty clothes and the pill bottles onto the foot of the bed.

"Hey," Dean replied. He watched as Sam pulled on his boots with agonizing slowness, and stood up.

"What are we waiting for?" Sam asked. "I'm starved."

"Let's go," Dean replied jutting his chin towards the door. He grabbed Sam's clothes and prescriptions and followed Sam out the door.

…………………………………………………………………………..

Breakfast at the truck stop was leisurely. The brothers talked while Sam poked around the Internet looking for their next case. Nothing promising reared its head, so Dean packed up the laptop and left to fill the car with gas. Sam browsed the truck stop, and found a rack full of old cassettes. The title of one song on a particular cassette caught his eye, and a mischievous grin cracked his face. It would definitely be worth the three dollars and ninety-nine cents.

After paying for the cassette, Sam met Dean on his way back inside. "I'm going to pay for the gas and we can go," Dean stated.

"Sounds good," Sam replied. He found the Impala easily, and sat down in the passenger seat. Glancing around for any sign of Dean, Sam unwrapped the cassette and opened the case. He threw the cassette into the glove compartment, and pocketed the cassette case shortly before Dean returned to the car.

Dean started the car, and eased the Impala out onto the highway. They traveled along in silence for several minutes before Dean decided he needed some music. He leaned over, and pulled a tape out of the jockey box. Not bothering to check the title, he popped it into the tape player. As the white-noise static of the tape advancing filled the speakers, Dean turned up the volume in anticipation. Moments later, the dulcet tones of Terri Gibb filled the air.

"Sam, what the hell?" Dean asked, quickly ejecting the tape, and turning off the radio.

Sam's light chuckle filled the car's interior. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"Why?" Dean asked his face frozen in mock horror.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sam asked tossing Dean's words back at him. "I'm the little brother."

Dean slapped Sam lightly on the shoulder. "A little brother who gets to sleep on the taco bed next time," he shot back. Sam chuckled again, and the brothers continued on in silence.

Fin

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Hey all, thanks so much for reading!

Don't under estimate your ability to convert your friends to SPN. Of the four friends I've pulled to Supernatural, I snagged one from Grey's Anatomy. It can be done! (c:

In the meantime, (this time copied from Tidia's most recent fic, "Dream On"):

Don't forget about the **Postcard Challenge**. Tell Dawn and Eric they have fans all over the world! I was given a better address for Dawn.

Dawn Ostroff  
President of Entertainment, The CW Television Network  
4000 Warner Boulevard, Bldg 168  
Burbank, CA 91522-0002

And Kripke's addy:  
(remember US residents will need an airmail stamp or two 39 cents stamps)

Supernatural Films Inc  
8085 Glenwood Dr.  
Burnaby BC  
V3N 5C8  
Canada


End file.
